Let The Dams Break
by SPNWinchesters
Summary: Just a collection of oneshots centered around Winchester Sibling fluff! Enjoy reading the cuteness that is Dean and Sam and their chick flick moments. Requests accepted! Warning: gore, OOC boys
1. I Know, Sammy

**So this is basically just a place for me to offload all of my stupid Winchester fluff family drabble floating around in my frazzled brain! I hope you guys think they're as cute as I do! Enjoy, don't forget to review my darlings and remember that you are all beautiful people!**

Timed seem to slow down for Sam as he watched Dean hit the wall and crumple into an unnatural heap at the base of the red brick. His vision swam with fury and Sam spun around, snarling and raising his shot gun. The spirit grinned a sadistic grin that made Sam want to murder him even more.

"You son of a bitch." Sam spat, using Dean's trademark line as he squeezed the trigger tightly with his finger. The spirit disappeared, but Sam knew he didn't have long to deal with the remains. He would get to Dean as soon as he could, but right now he needed to worry about the spirit that was after his ass. He scrambled to the lighter that Dean had dropped when he'd been flung against the harsh wall of the abandoned factory. Of course it had to be an abandoned factory. It could never be something easy, like a restaurant with several exits in case things went south. Sam would call this the hunt going south, and the nearest exit was the window to his left. That would work, if Sam was desperate enough to get Dean out of the combat, but he wasn't sure he was willing to risk a four story fall if he could deal with this.

The bones were somewhere near. He could smell the unmistakable scent of rotted corpse, another perk that came with the job. It was just sad that he could so easily recognize the smell that assaulted his nose as he slammed open a nearby cabinet. James Robert fell out of the cabinet, his black sockets staring up at Sam. He barely flinched at the sight as he dumped the gasoline onto the body. Of course, luck was never in his favor. The lighter wouldn't catch, leaving him fumbling in the dark with no easy way to get his gun if needed.

It turned out it was needed. Sam gasped as something seemed to twist his insides, slamming him against the wall. He collapsed next to Dean, but didn't seem to be in nearly as bad shape as his older brother. He wasn't going to let himself fail this. Not when Dean's health was on the line.

As resilient as ever, Sam endured the assault given to him on all sides as he struggled clumsily with the lighter. Finally it caught, and James' bones went up in flames, along with the marred spirit standing above Sam. The man leaned his head back onto the cabinets, letting himself take a few minutes to catch his breath. That had been too close.

Sam suddenly jolted up, ignoring the jarring pain it sent through his aching ribs, and half crawled, half ran to Dean. He uncurled his brother as gently as he could, noticing the odd angle that his wrist sat at. It was definitely broken, but Sam was more worried about the blood gushing from his head. More like spurting, actually. With a slight curse, Sam stripped his jacket and pressed it to Dean's head.

Dean had always been there to help Sam, clean him up when he got hurt, pick him up when he fell over and brush him off. This time, it was Sam's turn to take care of Dean. It was Sam's turn to be the brother.

He couldn't ignore that he was in pain, but he would endure it for Dean. He wasn't worried about himself. He was coherent and wasn't coughing up blood, and that was good enough for him. But Dean was still out cold, slumped bonelessly in the passenger seat where Sam had deposited him. The Impala was speeding down the abandoned streets, going at least forty over the speed limit. It wasn't fast enough.

It felt like ages before Sam pulled into the motel parking lot. He didn't need a hospital. He could stitch Dean up himself, but he couldn't do it in the car. With Dean cradled awkwardly in his arms, Sam rushed into the motel room and closed the door, making sure all of the salt lines were still intact before softly depositing Dean on one of the creaking bed.

"Come on man, stay with me." He pressed his fingers against Dean's neck, relief flowing through him. Dean's pulse was there, and it was strong. He gently ran his hands along Dean's head, looking for the source of the blood that soaked everything around them. The bed, Dean's shirt, Sam's hands and shirt. He didn't care. He'd seen much more blood, but it was scarier that it was Dean's blood. He couldn't allow his older brother to lose much more blood, or they would have to go to the hospital.

He finally found the cut that was spurting blood. It wasn't deep, but head injuries were known to bleed more than the regular cut. Sam pressed some of the threadbare wash rags to the cut, cursing when they easily became soaked through. With a groan of frustration, Sam quickly stripped his shirt and pressed it to Dean's head. It held up much better than the wimpy wash rags, doing a good job of sopping up the blood coming out of his older brother's head. Near the cut was a good sized goose egg. Great, a concussion. Sam knew Dean could handle it; they'd dealt with much worse before. That didn't make it any less painful.

The bleeding seemed to finally come to a stop. Sam removed the shirt, wincing when he took a few hairs with him. He carefully started cleaning out the cut, glancing down as Dean groaned at every touch, fidgeting uncomfortably. Although Sam was worried about the pain he was causing Dean, he couldn't feel too bad. It was a reaction, and all he had gotten all night.

"Dean? You with me?" Sam asked, grinning as Dean's eyes twitched, squinting open against the lights of the motel room.

"Sam? Why's your shirt off?" He asked. If he hadn't been concussed, Sam would have rolled his eyes at the question, waiting for a snarky comment to follow it about the notorious Slash Fictions that followed the two brothers. But he knew that Dean wasn't fully awake right now, and in any case was not well enough to be making stupid comments about Sam's lack of a shirt.

"It's over there soaked with your blood. It was the best thing I had to mop up the mess. I'm going to have to stitch you up." He warned, staring into Dean's dazed eyes. Sam could tell he was having a hard time focusing, and he could also tell that Dean was never fully lucid. His older brother was floating in and out of consciousness, giving him garbled replies and half sentences that didn't make sense. Sam didn't care; he got to work quickly, wincing every time Dean tensed. "I'm sorry man." He mumbled, more to sooth himself than to express apologies to Dean. He could do that later, when he was sure Dean was going to be okay.

He was stupid for even thinking it. Of course Dean was going to be okay. He was Sam's older brother, his rock, the only thing keeping him sane in the crappy life that they lived. He had to be okay. He had to be all there, all him. Sam couldn't bear it if something permanent happened to Dean. He would never forgive himself if he'd done something to seriously damage Dean's brain.

Despite the situation they were in, Sam couldn't help the small smirk that lifted on his face. Dean's brain was already seriously damaged. Sam finally finished stitching Dean. Now all he could do was sit and wait. After putting a clean shirt on, he settled on the bed next to his limp older brother. There was no way he was leaving this spot until he was sure Dean was going to be okay.

Sam didn't sleep that night. Dean kept muttering and shifting, obviously in pain. Sam wished there was something he could do to help it, but instead he ran his fingers through Dean's short hair as Dean used to do when Sam needed comforting. It seemed to work, his older brother always fell limp as soon as he felt Sam's hand contact with him. Sam would never tell Dean about the way he cried in the middle of the night, the moment of vulnerability when Dean whimpered in his sleep and Sam lost it and broke down on the bed next to him, muffling his sobs by biting his hand. He wouldn't tell Dean about the way he gripped his older brother's hand all night, more for his comfort than for Dean's, and he certainly wouldn't tell Dean about the confession that had slipped Sam's mouth while he was crying.

"Dammit Dean, you can't do this to me anymore. You can't throw yourself at everything so carelessly. I need you, man. You're my big brother. I can't do it without you. I love you, Dean." He wouldn't need to tell Dean about any of that, because in that moment he felt Dean shift on the bed, felt two arms come around him and pull him into Dean's sturdy chest. Fingers combed through his hair as Dean rested his cheek on the top of Sam's head.

"I know Sammy. I love you too."


	2. I Wouldn't Want It Any Other Way

**So I actually got this idea from an author called kelhome from their story named Family Ties. Go check them out, it's a really great oneshot, all credit for the idea goes to them! :)**

Ben was sitting at his kitchen table doing his math homework when he heard the doorbell ring. Perking up, he listened quietly as his mother swung the creaky door open. He immediately recognized the voice that floated through the house. Ben almost couldn't contain himself, he bolted from the kitchen into the entrance hall and stopped, frozen solid. Dean was only half coherent, staring at nothing through lidded eyes. The only reason he was still up was because Sam was next to him, supporting him. Ben's eyes widened, tears rushing down his cheeks as his mother stepped aside, sparing an apologetic glance at him before leading Sam to the couch. She didn't even care that Dean was bleeding all over her upholstery. She only cared that he got the care he needed.

Oh god, there was so much blood. Ben thought he was going to be sick. He almost collapsed as he stood at the entrance to the living room. He wanted to blame Sam for this, but Ben knew he never could. Dean would always choose Sam over anyone. Ben understood that, but the contempt that gnawed at him towards Sam was hard to ignore.

But as Ben watched Sam bending over his brother, speaking softly with a reassuring smile on his face as he practically held Dean's guts in for him, Ben just couldn't find the energy to be mad at him. Instead, he stepped into the living room, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

"What can I do to help?" He asked bravely, though his voice trembled slightly. His mother started to protest, but before she could say anything, a slightly slurred voice interrupted her.

"Ben no." Dean was struggling to sit up, trying to find the young boy in his hazy vision. "Don't want you…seeing this." He gasped, easing himself back onto the couch. "Protect you…I'll protect you." Ben didn't miss the hurt expression that flashed across Sam's face. It was only there for a nanosecond before he hid it again, but Ben had seen it. Guilt started to chew at Ben, but he didn't have long to react.

"Ben, could you just go wet a wash rag for me with cool water?" Sam asked, smiling over at the younger boy in reassurance. Ben couldn't understand how Sam managed to be so calm. Dean was practically dying under his hands, but he was completely relaxed. Ben knew that wasn't true. Sam's shoulders were tense, his back muscles coiled up with stress. He was hiding it for the sake of Ben and his mother. Ben couldn't help the gratitude that showed on his face. He wasn't sure he could handle it if all of them were hysterical.

"Here." Sam nodded in gratitude, taking the wet rag and placing it across Dean's forehead.

"Lisa, I'm going to need some pain killers. The strongest you can find." He commanded, immediately taking charge. She nodded and hurried off towards the medicine cabinet. "Ben, run out to the Impala and get the first aid kit. It's in the back seat." Ben rushed out to the Impala and wrenched the door open, grasping at the army green box that he assumed was the first aid kit. He struggled to lift the heavy box, closing the door with his hip before hurrying back inside. Sam was bent over Dean, cleaning up his ravaged torso. The worst of the bleeding had stopped, much to Ben's relief, but he almost couldn't bear to look at Dean's chest. Three large cuts ran the length of his entire torso. The young boy didn't know what had caused it, and he never wanted to know. "Thanks kid." Sam smiled softly at Ben before opening the box and taking out a needle and a spool of black thread. "Sorry Dean, this is gonna hurt like a bitch." He breathed, steeling himself and entering the needle into Dean's skin. He worked quickly and efficiently, even with Lisa and Ben watching over his shoulder. He had done this too many times to get distracted by things like that. Dean's life was on the line here, and that meant he needed to focus all of his concentration on trying to make sure Dean didn't croak.

When he finished up, he tied off the string and cut the excess before sponging up the last of the blood. The red, angry cuts stared out at him as Lisa helped him put a new shirt on Dean.

"Sam, you're exhausted. Why don't you go take a shower and I can make you some food." Lisa offered softly, placing her hand Sam's tense shoulder. He turned to her, shaking his head with a strained smile.

"No, I'll stay with him. Thanks for everything Lis. I don't know what I would've done without you." He nodded his head in gratitude as she dragged a chair in from the kitchen. He positioned it next to Dean's head and lowered himself into it. Lisa didn't miss the wince that he gave as he finally made it down, but decided not to mention it.

"What happened?" She whispered, glancing up the stairs to make sure that Ben really was in his room. Ben hid around the corner, holding his breath until Sam started speaking again.

"It was…well, actually I have no idea what it was. It was big, and obviously had some pretty wicked claws. We were in the middle of nowhere, and your place was closer than the motel. I just needed somewhere to stitch him up, and I wasn't about to do it in the freaking Impala. You were the first people I thought of." He admitted, smiling softly up at her. "You always are, when Dean gets himself hurt. I think to myself 'who can I take him to if he gets himself in serious trouble?', and the answer is always the same. It's you two." Lisa smiled, despite the tears that were welling in her eyes. Whatever she might have thought about Sam had been completely wrong. He wasn't a heartless bastard. He was just a younger brother trying to get by in life and keep him and his brother alive. She bid him a soft goodnight and trudged up the stairs. Ben listened softly as she moved around in her room before her light turned off. A few minutes later, he heard soft snoring coming from her room. The lights downstairs shut off, leaving the house in darkness, but still Ben didn't move.

He didn't know how long he sat on those stairs, listening to Sam murmur to Dean's limp form. He wanted to go down there and throw himself into Dean's arms. He wanted to beat the living crap out of Sam for letting Dean get this hurt. Suddenly, choked sobs from downstairs interrupted Ben's thoughts. He cocked his head. That couldn't be Dean. He'd heard Dean cry before, and he definitely didn't sound like that. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. It was Sam.

"I'm so sorry, man. I screwed up big time on this one. You were right; I wasn't ready for this hunt. Not so soon after getting my ass handed to me by that stupid Genie. I thought I could do it Dean, and even if I couldn't, I thought I would be the one to take the beating. But now you're practically dying under my hands and I can't do shit about it but sit here, wait for you to wake up, and hope to god that you forgive me for being so stupid." Ben realized that Sam might not have it together as well as he'd thought. He sat silently on the stairs, listening to Sam sniffle before the living room fell silent for a few more minutes. "I know you're up there, Ben." Ben winced at Sam's soft call. Caught. He reluctantly stood, almost toppling over. He'd been sitting in the same position for hours, and now his legs were numb. The young boy slowly made his way downstairs, cautiously entering the living room. Sam had pulled up another kitchen chair next to the couch and patted it, inviting Ben to come sit with him. Ben complied silently. "He used to gush about you, Ben." Sam stared down at Dean, his older brother's face illuminated and dappled by the moon and clouds outside. "Brag to me about how great you two were. You want to know the honest to god truth?" Ben didn't answer, because he wasn't sure. Did he? "You two deserve him a hell of a lot more than I do." Neither Ben nor Sam heard the hitched breath at the top of the stairs. Lisa covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. "I've made some mistakes, Ben. But none as bad as this." He let out a dry laugh. "I really screwed the pooch this time. Dean knows that. But I know he'll forgive me, just like that. He won't let me get in a word edgewise, because that's just the kind of person Dean is. He doesn't…hold grudges against people he loves." Ben couldn't figure out why Sam was telling him this. Maybe he was just babbling? "The point I'm trying to make to you is that maybe you should be like Dean in that one aspect. He didn't want to leave you guys. He fought tooth and nail to find a way to stay with you. But you don't understand the kind of risks we take. This is an occupational hazard." He gestured to Dean's softly breathing form. "And there's no way that our kind of lifestyle leaves room for the apple pie family. Not without putting you two in danger." Sam choked up again, and Ben felt tears roll down his cheeks. "I had a girlfriend once, Ben." Lisa had crept down the stairs and was sitting where she could see Sam and her son. She almost gasped out loud at the velvet box Sam was turning over in his hand. "I was going to marry her, settle down with her." He whispered hoarsely, opening the box lightly. The ring was still in there, brand new and untouched.

"What…happened to her?" Ben asked carefully, in a voice that Sam had to strain his ears to hear.

"The job got her. I wasn't in time, and she died the same way my mom did. I'm not going to saddle you with a description, but it wasn't pretty." Ben nodded vigorously.

"I understand what you're saying, Sam." Ben breathed. Sam glanced over at him, smiling despite the tears that still rolled down his cheeks.

"Nobody comes before you and your mom. Not even me. When you call, Dean drops everything and comes running just like that. It doesn't matter where we are, or whatever situation we've gotten ourselves into. He comes running as soon as you call for him." Sam informed Ben. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."


	3. More Than Anyone Else

**Decided we needed some angry brothers, so here it is!**

"Seriously, Sam? When have I ever let you down?" Dean demanded as they roared into the parking lot of the motel. Sam wasn't sure he was up for a fight at the moment. His arm hurt like a bitch, and he was sure he'd cracked one of his ribs. But Dean seemed set on riling him up as the two climbed out of the Impala. "Don't ignore me, Sam. Answer me, dammit!" Dean yelled after Sam as the tall man limped slightly towards the motel room. Sam spun around, almost falling off balance before sneering at Dean.

"I dunno Dean, but you seemed pretty damn set on letting that thing smack me around before you took the shot! And don't tell me that you didn't have a clear shot, because I know damn well that you did!" Sam retaliated, throwing his arms up and wincing at the pain that shot through his left one. It didn't matter, Dean had finally fired him up.

In all honesty, Dean didn't want to fight about the hunt tonight. He wanted Sam to tell him why he was so moody all the time. He'd closed himself off, and this was the first type of feeling he'd shown Dean in weeks. Dean was going to accept it.

"You wanna know the truth, Sammy?" Dean demanded, stalking up to his younger brother. Sam wasn't sure he actually did want to know the truth. "You're right, I did have a clear shot, but the image of you with a bullet in your forehead that I shot was too much for me to handle, so I waited until it wasn't anywhere near you, because I can't lose you again Sam." It was a heartfelt sentence, but in Dean's angry voice it just made the fury roll hotter in Sam's veins.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean." He replied in a low growl. "And you know that. So the next time you get cold feet...don't." He started to spin around, but Dean grabbed his arm forcefully to let Sam know that he wasn't done with the conversation. Sam almost wanted to turn back around and find out what was bothering his older brother so much. He had only ever fought like this with Sam when he was anxious about something. But the pure anger that exhumed off of him made him change his mind. He ripped his arm out of Dean's grip with final decisiveness and stalked into the motel room. Dean had other ideas, following him in and slamming the door so hard that it rattled the frame.

"I'm not done with this conversation, Sam." He spat, yanking the first aid kit from Sam's hand and tossing it onto the bed, away from Sam's long reach. Sam glared up at him from under his bangs. He really wasn't in the mood to fight with Dean, but his older brother knew exactly what buttons to push to get under his skin.

"Well I am." He muttered in a low tone, trying to get past Dean to the first aid kit. Dean could tell the man was exhausted, but he kept right on spitting words at Sam like bullets until Sam finally responded. "What do you want from me, man?!" He shouted, shoving Dean forcefully away from him. Dean stumbled, lithely finding his footing and standing a few feet away from his brother. His chest was heaving with the effort of screaming words at Sam, and his throat had been scraped raw. His hands were clenched into fists at his side and his eyes were narrowed dangerously, but Sam could see through it. He could see that Dean was going crazy with worry.

"I want you to tell me why the hell you're acting so weird, Sammy." Dean finally responded in a defeated tone, slumping onto one of the chairs in the small kitchen. "I've tried everything, man. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why do you bottle everything up inside? Just talk to me." Dean practically pleaded. Sam cocked his head in confusion, just an act. He knew exactly what Dean was talking out, and had hoped that his older brother wouldn't have noticed his strange behavior. Of course Dean would notice. Dean noticed when a single hair was out of place on Sam's head.

"What do you mean? I'm fine, Dean." Sam brushed off his observation with a noncommittal shrug.

"That's bull, Sam." Dean jumped up with renewed vigor. "It's bad enough that you're hiding stuff from me AGAIN. Don't sit there and lie to my face about it. I just can't handle that. You're my brother, Sam. I can't stand when you treat me like I'm an idiot. I may not be the most educated person out there, but I know you. I know you inside and out, Sam. I practically raised you, so please don't act like I can't see what's going on. You don't sleep, you barely eat, you go out every night to do god knows what. I respect your privacy, Sam. I trust you, I know you're not doing anything bad. I just want to know why." Dean's fists were clenched again, so tightly he thought he might actually break his fingers.

He wasn't expecting Sam to fight back. He wasn't expecting the tall man to jump out of his chair and swing his arm, catching Dean right in the eye. Dean stumbled back, not ready for the force that the punch held. He fell back onto the ground, staring up at Sam with his jaw clenched. It didn't seem like Sam was going to apologize any time soon, so he merely stood up, dusted himself off, and walked out of the motel room without a word.

The bar scene sucked, but Dean would rather be there than cooped up in a room with his PMSing little brother. He knew he had a decent shiner to accompany the throbbing pain in his left eye. He had to admit, Sam sure did pack a punch.

"Hi there." A seductive voice murmured in his ear. Dean glanced up, catching sight of the attractive blond girl running her nail down his arm softly. "What happened to your eye?" She asked with a cat like grin, taking the seat next to him at the bar and ordering a beer.

"Got into a fight with my brother." Dean replied, taking a sip out of his bottle. "I kicked his ass though." He boasted. It was a lie, Sam had definitely had the upper hand in that one. But she didn't need to know that.

"Wow, that's really cool." The woman leaned in, her breath smelling like beer and cigarette smoke. "How about we go back to my place." Dean smirked, slamming twenty bucks on the bar and leading the woman out to his Impala. It was going to be a good night.

The next morning, Dean had left her house before she even woke up. He didn't know anything about her, not even her name. He didn't care. It was just a way to get his mind off of Sam's weird behavior. He felt kind of bad for using the woman, but then shrugged. She'd asked for it, throwing herself all over him like that.

When he got back to the motel and opened the door, Sam had just gotten out of the shower. There was an empty bottle of jack on the table, and Sam had large bags under his eyes. Dean knew that his night had been twenty times better than Sam's. Dean remained silent as he closed the door behind him, eyeing the bed. It hadn't even been slept in.

"Hey Dean?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean turned his head to look at his younger brother with a perplexed expression. "I uh...here." Dean barely caught the bottle that Sam tossed at him. "We were out, and I thought that might hurt." He gestured to Dean's hideously black eye. Dean knew that it was Sam's way to try to apologize. He opened the small pill bottle and popped two of them dry before capping it off and putting it in his duffel bag. "And uh..." Sam started again. Dean turned to look at him as Sam fidgeted on his feet, staring down at the floor. "Sorry." Dean only nodded, turning away from him. He was still mad at Sam for not talking to him about whatever was going on, and Sam needed to know. "I get that you're worried man. But, this is something I have to deal with on my own. And when I'm ready, I'll talk to you. I promise I will, but until then, you just have to trust me." Dean turned back to Sam with a small smile.

"I do." He replied, nodding his head. "I trust you more than anyone else...Bitch." Sam smirked, knowing that he and Dean were going to be okay.

"Jerk."


	4. To Ease Your Pain

**Hey guys! Here's a little sick Sammy. Sorry it's so short, but don't worry, more is coming soon! :)**

Sam rolled over on his side, trying not to wake Dean with his labored breathing. He'd seen this coming; the young boy had been feeling crappy all week. At first it had started with faint headaches that he brushed off as sleep deprivation, but when did the Winchesters ever suffer from that on a physical level? Then came the fever. It wasn't high at first, and that was why neither Dean nor his father had noticed. And then his father had left on a job, leaving Sam and his brother alone as he usually did. That was one less body to worry about. He didn't want to make his family sick too.

Sam knew he could take care of himself. He was sixteen, practically an adult, but as he lay delirious with fever, he wished he'd told his older brother. His stomach rolled and he clamped his mouth shut, hoping he could hold the nausea. It passed; Sam knew how to hold his vomit down. They had to be good at that in his kind of work.

Suddenly, Sam's dinner rose painfully in his throat. No longer caring if he woke Dean, Sam bounded into the bathroom and slammed himself down by the toilet. His dinner rolled out of his mouth and he clutched the porcelain with a white knuckled grip.

"Aw, Sammy." Dean's groggy voice came from behind him as he dropped onto his knees next to his younger brother. His hand rested on Sam's lower back comfortingly while his other held Sam's too long, shaggy bangs out of his face. Sam continued to heave until he couldn't breathe, and then he collapsed shakily into Dean's chest. Dean frowned, raking his fingers through Sam's sweaty hair. There was no point in leaving the bathroom; Sam would continue to get sick all night. So instead, Dean leaned back against the wall behind him with his arms wrapped loosely around Sam's middle. He pulled his lanky brother back with him, stretching his legs out so that Sammy was sitting in between them with his back resting against Dean's chest. His younger brother's head lolled back, resting on Dean's shoulder as his eyes slid shut with exhaustion. He hated being sick.

Neither of them got very much sleep that night. Sam continued to heave every half hour or so, and Dean's back was starting to hurt, but he wouldn't let Sammy suffer alone in the tiny bathroom all night. No, Dean was going to take care of his little brother because not only was it his job, but also because he loved Sammy. He didn't even mind when he was in the same exact position that Sam had been, puking his guts out while Sam tried desperately to take care of him. He was glad that he had helped to ease some of Sam's pain. He would always be there to ease Sam's pain.


	5. I'll Take Care of Ya

**Sorry these last two were so short! I hand wrote them while I was in school!**

_It was the wall._ Was the first thought in Dean's mind when Sam suddenly collapsed. He dropped to his knees next to Sam, gripping his little brother's broad shoulders. No, this couldn't be happening. Not again.

The collapse had been so sudden. Just like the last one. Sam's discarded soda leaked onto the carpet, threatening to make Sam's hair sticky. Dean carelessly batted it away, his eyes trained on Sam. The wall that Death had erected in Sam's mind was weakening. Dean could tell by the constant night terrors that plagued his young brother.

Without warning, Sam jolted on the ground, trembling violently. Dean jumped away as Sam's arms flailed around, nearly pegging the older man in his eye. He wasn't sure what to do and that scared him.

"Sammy? Come on man, don't do this." He begged, trapping Sam's arms so he wouldn't hurt himself. Sam grunted, trying to yank himself away from Dean's tight grip. "SAM!" The shout seemed to rouse Sam. His eyes flew open and he slumped back to the floor gasping air into his lungs. "What was that?!" Dean demanded, his terror hidden fairly well. Not well enough, Sam could see right through him. Dean was scared to death.

Sam tried to come up with an answer, but didn't have one. Dean waited in tense anticipation as Sam tried to collect his thoughts. His mind was scattered and numb. He wasn't sure what exactly was happening, but he had a suspicion.

"Was it the wall?" Dean asked in a low tone, not really sure he wanted Sam to answer him. He could tell that Sam was fine just by the clear way he had his eyes trained on his older brother above him. But there was still a tiny chance that the wall had finally broken, that Sam had remembered everything Dean wanted him to forget.

"No." Sam grunted as he pushed himself shakily into a seated position. "Just a seizure."

"A freakin seizure?! Since when do you get seizures?!" Dean practically yelled. Sam shrugged, just as confused as his older brother.

"Since now, I guess." Sam replied, wincing as he struggled to his feet. Dean had to restrain himself from helping him. Sam was independent and Dean knew he hated when he needed help. He was just like Dean in that aspect.

"Great. Just another thing slapping us in the face." Dean sighed, catching sight of Sam's tense and aggravated face. Dean slapped Sam comfortingly on the shoulder. "Don't worry Sammy. I'll take care of ya."


	6. Even Judge Judy

**I started this one in school too, but it's a little longer! Enjoy my lovelies!**

Sam couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't. He could very faintly hear Dean trying to snap him out of the weird funk he had fallen into, but he couldn't figure out where the voice was coming from. He opened his mouth to answer Dean, but instead of words, an ear shattering scream erupted form his chest. He didn't know why he'd screamed. Was he in pain? His brain was too muddled to tell.

It had been some sort of venom from some sort of monster. At least, that's what he thought it had been. He just didn't know anymore.

"D'n." A garbled mutter came out of his mouth. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure what was coming out of his mouth at that point.

"Sammy? Can you hear me?" A gruff yet scared voice asked. Who did it belong to again? Who was Sammy? Was that him?

"Wha-?" He mumbled, feeling a violent spasm rock his body. Before the gruff voice could say anything back to him, Sam's world faded into nothingness.

Dean shook Sam's shoulder, glancing at his brother crumpled limply in the passenger seat. His head lolled to the side, his mouth wide open. Blood dripped steadily from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He was no longer groaning and had stopped twitching, but Dean wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

The Impala roared into the hospital parking lot. Dean didn't even check to see if he was in a parking spot. All that mattered was his delirious little brother in the passenger seat. It was almost a superhuman trait that Dean managed to drag Sam's lanky form into the ER. He was jacked up on all sorts of adrenaline, and panic had made his blood pressure spike. His heart beat rapidly as the nurses managed to get Sam onto a gurney.

"What's wrong with him?" One of the nurses asked as Dean watched the nurses roll Sam out of his sight. That bothered him. He hated it when Sam was hurt and he couldn't be right there with him.

"Um, venom. A snake bit him." Dean lied smoothly, still focused on the doors they had taken Sam through. The nurse nodded and scribbled something onto the paper that was clipped to an old brown clipboard in her hands.

"I'm going to need to get your insurance." Dean nodded absently, tossing a card at her. The woman clad in dark green scrubs trekked behind the counter to run Dean's card before handing it back to him. He looked down to see the paper she had slipped into his hand. In curly handwriting it read:

Beth xxx-xxxx

Normally, Dean would take the time to flirt shamelessly with her, but he just couldn't find the energy. He collapsed lackadaisically into one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. It was a waiting game now.

He couldn't remember how long he sat in the same exact position, staring blankly at the wall. There were no thoughts in his head anymore. He wasn't worried about the hunt anymore. He didn't care that they didn't kill the thing before they'd split. He just couldn't bring himself to care if anyone else was being murdered by the thing. The only thing he wanted was to hear Sam's deep voice spouting off some uselessly geeky fact while Dean drove down the open road with ACDC blasting in his ears.

"Mr. Larson." Dean jumped to his feet as soon as he heard the alias name. The doctor was standing by the same door they had taken Sam through. His eyes took in the disheveled man that stood before him. It was clear to the doctor that this man was going through hell in his own head right now, not knowing whether his brother was going to be okay. "I have good news and I have bad news. What do you want first?" The doctor asked in a professionally sympathetic tone.

"Surprise me." Dean replied in a rough, scratchy voice. It was clear from his stained cheeks and bright red eyes that the older man had been shamelessly crying.

"Your brother is awake." Dean's relief spiked as his heart started to calm. Until he took in the doctors remorseful expression. The anxiety returned twice as hard, crashing into him like a brick wall at ninety miles an hour. "Unfortunately, the venom seems to have done a number on his brain before we could pump it all out. He's a little out of it right now, and until he's fully awake, I can't judge if he will be okay or if there's something seriously wrong with him." Dean nodded, hearing the words that the doctor was saying, but not really listening. He hadn't made it past 'the venom seems to have done a number on his brain'. "You can go in and see him. He's just in that room." The doctor pointed Dean the right way before stepping out of the hallway to a different room. Dean took a half-assed deep breath and softly opened the door, stepping in.

Sam was lying on the bed, reclined back against several fluffy pillows. His hand was resting on the television remote and his pale face was pointed towards the soft TV. Dean could tell he wasn't really paying attention though. His hazel eyes suddenly turned to look at Dean.

"You were right. Daytime TV sucks ass." Dean almost laughed with relief. His younger brother seemed fine, much to his pleasant surprise. Dean practically collapsed at the door, having to lean on the frame for a few seconds before walking towards Sam's bed. He took a seat in one of the chairs next to it, resting his legs up on Sam's bed. His thigh lightly touched Sam's, a gesture meant to show Sam that he was there. Sam knew what it meant and couldn't help but smile at it. It was probably the closest he was going to get to any sort of contact.

"What do you remember?" Dean asked carefully, staring at the TV. "Judge Judy? Really Sam?" Sam shrugged noncommittally.

"There's nothing else on, man." He waited a few seconds before answering the first question Dean had asked. "Not much, honestly. I remember fighting that thing, and then suddenly I was going down. And then...nothing. Then I woke up here with a doctor leaning over me and you nowhere in sight, and I panicked. Thought the worst." He admitted, looking at Dean through his bangs. Though he was talking as if he were perfectly fine, Dean could tell from his flushed face and hollowed cheeks that the boy was actually exhausted.

"Go to sleep, Sam. I'll be here when you wake up this time." Dean comforted, patting Sam's hand. Sam smiled gratefully and reclined his bed back. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, his soft snores a testament to the deep sleep he was now in. Dean smiled down at the kid, who looked several years than he actually was buried in all of those pillows like that. He reached his hand out, brushing a strand of hair out of Sam's eye and resting his hand briefly on Sam's forehead before turning back to his episode of Judge Judy. "I swear, the things I do for you Sammy. I mean seriously? I'm sitting here watching friggin Judge Judy." And yet, Dean couldn't help the affectionate smile that brushed his lips. He would really do anything for Sam. Even if it meant Judge Judy.


	7. I'm Not Dead

**Sorry it's been a while since I've posted! I've been stressed out with school. Senior year is seriously kicking my buttocks! Sorry if some of this medical stuff is wrong x(**

Every inch of Sam's body flashed white-hot with pain. What was happening? His eyes cracked open, light making his head pound. He screwed them shut again, waiting for the throbbing to fade. He reached his hand up to assess the damaged, then became aware that he was suspended upside down, his weight being held by the Impala's seatbelt. He remembered the sound of squealing brakes, headlights in his face, crunching metal and then nothing. Oh right…he'd been getting dinner for him and his brother. _Dean! Oh man, he's gonna kill me for totaling his car!_

Sam's fingers sought the smooth plastic of his phone. Thank god it was still in his pocket. He cracked his eyes open again, letting out an involuntary moan of pain as he clumsily dialed Dean's number and closed his eyes again. God, he hurt.

"You've been gone for an hour, Sam. What's taking so long?" Dean demanded crossly. He always became cranky without food.

"D'n." It took that one garbled slur for Dean to be on his feet.

"Sammy? What happened? Sam!" Panic seized Dean's heart. Sam was in trouble.

"Hurts." No, that wasn't what Sam meant to say. "Ungh, car accident. Help." Why couldn't he say what he wanted to? _I wrecked your car, man. I'm so sorry._

"Dammit Sammy." Dean breathed, exiting the motel room. "Where are you?" But it was too late. The phone slipped from Sam's fingers and crashed to the floor or the roof really. He had faith. Dean would save him.

**SPN**

"Alright, cut him out." Lights stabbed at Sam's closed eyelids. He was no longer upside down and something was clutching his hand.

"D'n." He struggled to open his lead-laden eyes. The pressure on his hand tightened.

"I'm here, Sammy." Dean's voice anchored him. His brother had come to save him. "You're gonna be okay kiddo." Sam didn't care that he was in his twenties, he was so glad Dean was talking to him as if he were a little kid again. Dean would take care of him.

"D'n m'sorry." He mumbled, head lolling towards where Dean's voice was coming from.

"Shh, it's okay Sammy." Dean replied, brushing Sam's sodden bangs off of his forehead. With Dean's comforting touch, he faded into blissful unconsciousness.

**SPN**

There was a continuous buzz in Sam's ears. It was making words, but Sam couldn't comprehend who it was or what they were saying. But he was strangely comforted by it. Maybe it was Dean.

The realization seemed to make something click in his half-lucid brain. His eyes cracked open, a blurry face floating in his vision.

"Sammy? You with me?" There it was again. That voice that kept him sane and alive, had kept him that way for his entire life.

"M'here." Sam muttered, wincing as he moved. Had he been flattened by a freaking steamroller?

"Hey hey, take it easy." Dean's hand fell across his shoulder. There was no pressure on the hold but it halted Sam's painful struggles to sit up.

"Hate hospitals. What if we get caught?" Sam grumbled. Dean couldn't help the smile of relief on his face. If Sam was feeling good enough to angst at him, then he must've been feeling pretty okay.

"I know, buddy." Dean replied, smirking at Sam's forlorn expression.

Before Sam could reply, the door to his room opened and the doctor stepping in. A clipboard was held in his hands and a smile rested on his face. The Winchester boys could see right through the phony content. They were about to get bad news.

Dean braced himself for whatever the doctor had to say, expecting the worst. Sam was dying again. God, why did this always happen to them? Couldn't they go just one week without one of them running off to their death?

"Hello Sam. It's good to see you awake. I have test results from your x-rays and blood tests. It seems you have a laceration on your kidney. It isn't very deep, but it is bleeding. Not enough to do any permanent damage, so we're going to allow it to heal on its own. However, you will also be in some significant pain, so we're upping your dosage of pain medication. You also have a broken leg and four cracked ribs." Dean frowned. The doctor just seemed to endlessly list off injuries. It was as if any injury that a person could receive, Sam had. "We want to keep you for a few nights to make sure your kidney heals properly." Sam was about to protest when one glance at Dean's expression halted him. Instead he sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Great. We'll get you all taken care of."

**SPN**

"Dean." The man was out of the spare bed and at Sam's side before he was even fully awake. He peered down at his little brother in the dim hospital room and cursed.

Sam's face had paled considerably and a sheen of sweat stuck his gown to his body. Dean could tell Sam was in horrible pain from the lines that creased his forehead and his labored breathing.

"Hurts." Sam strained, screwing his eyes shut. The doctor had said he would be in pain, but neither Dean nor Sam had expected it to be this bad.

"I know bud, I'm sorry." Dean pushed Sam's soggy hair off of his forehead, letting a soft smile flit across his face. "It's okay though. I'm right here." That seemed to relax the taller man as he drifted into a fitful sleep.

Dean didn't sleep much that night. Every little noise that Sam made had him tense, especially when he let out those little moans and whimpers. It was hell. No, it was worse than hell. He just couldn't stand when Sammy was in pain. It made his heart crack in two, and several times already he had almost lost it. So he lay awake until morning listening to his brother's muted sounds of agony. When Sam awoke the next morning, he could tell Dean hadn't gotten any sleep after Sam had woken him. Guilt gnawed at Sam. He shouldn't have woken Dean up. Why had he succumbed to that one moment of weakness?

But god, he'd been in so much pain. It had felt like someone was driving a hot poker into his side. And the only person who knew how to deal with Sam when he was in pain was Dean. He never even needed to say anything, just needed to let Sam know that he was there.

"Gonna go get food." Dean gestured to the door and trotted out into the hall.

"Bring me some!" He heard Sam call just before the door closed behind him, cutting Sam off mid-call. Dean smirked wryly, ambling towards the cafeteria at a tired pace.

Back in his room, Sam allowed himself to sag back. His mask broke and he writhed, unable to find a comfortable position.

"Hey Sam, how're you feeling?" A male nurse stepped into his room, examining the machines at Sam's bedside.

"Like my kidney is bleeding." Sam responded with a dry chuckle. "Is the doctor sure that the bleeding won't damage me?" He asked unsurely, wincing as a twinge shot through him.

"Yes! The blood will drain with your urine, and the cut was already showing signs of healing when you arrived." The nurse arrived with a cheery smile. Sam thought the male assistant was too happy, pulling a face at his back as he exited Sam's stark-white room.

Left alone, Sam finally let his guard down. His neutral expression dropped into one of utter agony and his hands clenched the bed sheets. Tremors wracked his body, a lovely side effect of the low fever he was now harboring, and his face pinched with the strains of the waves of sharp pain flashing through his entire body. Who knew one simple cut could hurt so damn much?

Dean didn't arrive back to his room for another half hour, giving Sam time to pant heavily and readjust so he would be ready to fool Dean and the doctor by telling them that he was fine and that he could be released. But nothing got past Dean when it came to Sam's health, and he immediately noticed Sam's tight expression and the very faint shivers that traversed throughout his little brother's body. _Nice try, Sammy._

"How do you feel?" Dean asked, already knowing what the answer was going to be. He sent Sam a look to let him know that Dean could tell he wasn't feeling good at all. Sam gave it up, allowing his eyebrows to draw together as his fingers spasmed slightly into the bed.

"Awful." Sam replied in a pinched voice. Dean nodded in understanding.

"I bet man." He replied with just a tinge of sympathy. "Guess we should settle in, we'll probably be here for a few days." Sam groaned when Dean finished his sentence, but Dean could tell it wasn't from the pain. Was it bad that he could distinguish Sam's groans of pain from his groans of reluctance and pathetic resignation? Shaking himself from his reverie, Dean pulled the single plastic chair up to the side of Sam's bed, propping his feet up next to Sam's so that their calves were just barely touching. It was enough for Sam. He flipped the TV on, smiling victoriously when Lord of the Rings flickered onto the small screen. Maybe there would be a marathon?

They sat silently watching the movie when Sam abruptly let out a loud cry and lunged forward. His hand found Dean's arm, his fingers tightly gripping the older man's arm. Dean immediately fell into panic mode, fighting to keep calm as he stood up, knocking his chair backwards and making a loud crashing noise. He clambered quickly onto Sam's bed, knees on either side of Sam's waist as he gripped Sam's shoulders as tightly as he could without hurting his younger brother.

"Sam? Sammy, what's wrong?" He demanded, not hearing the door open and close and professional voices speak over the two brothers to each other. "Sam!" He snapped, grabbing his brother's chin and forcing his face up. Dean's green eyes sought out Sam's hazel ones, searching for anything that would tell him what the hell was going on. The only thing he found in Sam's wide eyes was fear and pain. The two things he hated to see in his brother the most.

"Dean…hurts…so bad…" Sam managed to wheeze out between heavy pants and slight cries. Tears had begun to pool in his eyes and trail down his cheeks, and that's when Dean became terrified. Sam never cried. _**Never.**_ It was serious. Sam was in more pain that he could ever imagine.

"Sir, I need you to move." A nurse grabbed Dean's shoulder and unkindly yanked him away from Sam's writhing form. He wouldn't fight them, just for Sam's sake. Because Sam needed the doctors help and Dean wouldn't be doing much good for him if he fought the nurses. A blood curdling scream tore out of Sam's chest and Dean's eyes fastened shut against the noise as tears brimmed. His brother was in pain, and he couldn't do jack squat about it. He felt completely useless. He felt completely lost.

"Dean…Dean where are you?" Sam's confused and tearful voice broke over the loud caterwaul of the chaos around Dean. His eyes reopened and he blinked tears out of them. Sam's arm was stretched out, his hand searching for something that wasn't there. His eyes were shut, but he was looking as hard as he could for his brother. "Dean please!" That was it. He wasn't going to let those nurses keep him away from his brother, not after he'd asked for help in such a broken tone.

"Move, get out of my way." Dean shouldered his way through the nurses, ignoring them when they tried to get him to move. "I'm right here, Sammy. I've gotcha." He took Sam's large hand, mustering a small half smile as Sam weakly squeezed his hand.

"We have to go into surgery immediately." The doctor took Dean's shoulder, staring into his eyes sincerely. "Please let go of your brother sir. We need to take him right away." Dean squeezed Sam's hand one last time before letting go.

"Don't worry Sam; I'll be right here when you get out. Promise." He vowed after his brother as they quickly wheeled him away. Dean wasn't sure how long he sat in the chair that he had picked back up, staring at the same spot on the wall and just waiting. He remembered a nurse coming in, trying to get him to eat or drink, but he just sat motionless. It was a stupid thing to do, really. He depended too much on Sam, and he knew it. Sam was his Achilles heel. Dean was Sam's Achilles heel. That wasn't ever going to change. In the life that they lived, they had to hold on tightly to whatever they had. Sam was all Dean had left, and if he lost him, Dean wasn't sure what he'd do. Maybe make another deal. Maybe he'd just drink himself dead. That sounded like a good idea. Less painful. At least he wouldn't have to think about Sammy that way.

Dean shook his head abruptly, pulling himself away from that path of thought. Of course Sam wasn't going to die. Sam would be just fine. Dean could feel it.

It felt like hours before the door finally opened up again. Sam was wheeled back into the room, a nebulizer strapped tightly to his face. He was far too pale to be healthy and his hazel eyes were shut. Dean longed to see them once again, longed to hear Sam's snarky tone when Dean made a stupid comment just to rile him up. The doctor followed, and Dean thought he was going to be sick at the blood that covered his scrubs. Sam's blood.

"There was a problem with his kidney. We had to do an emergency stitching and also had to drain stagnant fluids from his kidney. He'll be okay, but he definitely gave us quite a scare there." The doctor smiled at Dean. _That's putting it lightly._

"Thanks Doc." And Dean meant it from the bottom of his heart. A half-hearted, yet sincere smile graced his face, aimed towards the doctor that had just saved his brother's life. The doctor grinned and nodded his head once before leaving the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

"He just loves to hear that." An older nurse was bustling around Sam's bed, making sure all of the machines were hooked up properly. "I think you two remind him of his two sons. They're a lot younger than you, but the older one won't leave his little brother's side when he's hurt or sick. It's nice to watch a brotherly bond like that." She smiled before exiting Sam's room. In a sudden act of vulnerability, Dean reached out and grasped Sam's limp hand, smiling when he felt a very faint squeeze. Sam's eyes fluttered open, half lidded, but still there.

"I'm not dead." His words were muffled by the mask that covered his mouth, but Dean could still understand what Sam was saying.

"Clearly, man." Dean replied with a snort, but Sam could sense the utter relief behind it. Dean had been scared to death. "Oh, and by the way if you tell anyone about this, you're dead." He lifted up his hand, gripping Sam's tightly. "Bitch." Sam smiled behind the mask, and though Dean didn't hear what he said, he knew exactly what Sam had replied with.

"Jerk."


	8. Call Me

**Yay! Another one!**

Sam awoke with a start, rolling over and sitting up. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he rubbed at them, glancing beside him for some sort of comfort to let him know it had all just been a bad dream. But there wasn't another bed. There wasn't another body.

The realization came with a sharp twinge of pain. Sam ground his teeth together. He'd left a few weeks ago, but the wound was still fresh.

There hadn't been a fight. Dean hadn't tried to make him stay. He'd stood at the door and watched Sam walk away from the motel, and though Sam hadn't looked back to confirm it, he knew Dean hadn't even tried to look remorseful.

Not that Sam had expected him to. The relationship between the brothers had been failing since day one. There had been fractures in it ever since Dean had appeared in his apartment at Stanford and Sam had no one to blame but himself.

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the oncoming migraine. Why hadn't he tried harder? He had pushed Dean away with all of the secrets and stupid stunts he had pulled. All for what? Meaningless nights wasting away in some shitty motel in some god-forsaken town in the middle of Colorado.

"Living the life." He muttered, swinging his lanky legs over the side of the bed. His abs screamed in protest as he stood and immediately, his legs buckled. Apparently that vamp had done more damage than he'd thought. It was especially bad considering the knife wounds he'd received from his own machete, which he hadn't treated when he'd stumbled back into the motel room the night before, half awake and bruised beyond belief.

_"You're gonna kill yourself, Sammy."_ The man shook Dean's voice out of his head. He didn't need that reminder. At the thought of his elder brother, the hole that had ripped open in his chest when he'd left throbbed. He frowned, rubbing at his chest as if it was an actual pain that he could fix by massaging it.

"Please. I can handle a few freakin vampires." Sam mumbled taking a few hesitant steps towards the bathroom. The pain in his head intensified and he reached up, massaging angrily at his temples. The truth was that he couldn't handle them, not really. Without Dean to back him up, Sam had been floundering as if he were brand new at hunting. "What are you, Sam? Seven? You don't need Dean to carry you around everywhere. You've been by yourself before." But this felt different. The other times he'd survived without Dean, it was because he'd had to. Not because he'd chosen to.

He splashed some water on his face from the dirty sink, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He hated the dark circles under his eyes, his sallow cheeks and paler-than-normal skin. His eyes were bloodshot and it looked like he hadn't slept in days. He hated that Dean had this kind of effect on him. He hated that he relied so much on the older man. Maybe it was the way he'd been raised. In his life, he could only ever trust three people: His dad, Bobby, and Dean. But Sam knew it was more than that. He figured that even if they had grown up in a normal life, he'd still look up to Dean as much as he did. He'd still rely on his older brother to take care of him, because it wasn't the hunt that had ground that trust into him, it wasn't the way he'd grown up. It was simply because Dean was his brother.

Sam shook his head and exited the bathroom, stepping towards his duffel bag on the floor by the bed. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his head. Sam gasped, hinging at the waist and collapsing to his knees on the grimy carpet. His fingers spasmed into the side of his head as another pain shot through him. He collapsed onto his side, curling in on himself as his vision flashed white and a high pitched ringing echoed through his ears. He felt his side become sticky and an abrasive smell met his nose. _Blood._

Without even realizing what he was doing, Sam searched for his phone in his pocket. He finally found it, thanking his lucky stars he hadn't bothered to take it out the night before.

His fingers numbly dialed the number and put it on speaker phone, dropping it on the carpet next to his face. He just needed to stay awake long enough to get help.

"Sam?" Dean sounded so confused. Sam couldn't blame him.

"Dean..." It was barely a word, a mere shuddered breath that meekly resembled his name.

"Sam what's wrong?" Dean demanded, panic spiking in his voice. At least Sam had that to hold on to. Dean still cared enough to panic when Sam was injured.

"Don' know. Help." Sam breathed, covering his face with his hands. "Elicott, Colorado. Sunset motel. 1A." He strained, his voice sounding strangled and far away to his own ears.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'm coming." Dean assured. Sam smiled softly and felt himself falling away. The floor dropped from under him, and then there was nothing.

**SPN**

Dean's grip was white knuckled on the Impala's steering wheel, his eyebrows drawn and his face pinched. He was angry. Because Sam had left him again. Because he hadn't had the strength to reach out to his little brother. Because he had driven his only remaining family away from him. Because Sam was hurt and Dean wasn't there to help him.

The asphalt was slick, still wet from the rain that had battered the Georgia landscape. God, he was so STUPID! The tires rolled smoothly and effortlessly over the soaked ground as Dean floored the car forward. He should have done something. The radio wasn't even on. Dean didn't listen to music anymore. He had no obnoxious little brother to complain about it anymore, and that made it less fun.

Everything reminded him of Sam. And every reminder pierced his heart like an arrow slicing clean through him. If only Sam had looked back that day, he would've seen his brother's pleading and broken face. But Dean had driven him to believe that he was no longer cared for. That was all on Dean.

"Dammit Sam." He growled, pressing harder on the accelerator. It wasn't fair to Sam for Dean to be angry with him. No, Dean wasn't mad at Sam. He was upset with himself. But he would fix it.

He drove nonstop from Georgia to the small town of Elicott, Colorado. His eyes were burning with exhaustion and his muscles ached from being cramped into the car for hours on end by the time he roared into the motel that Sam had given him. His feet slapped the dry, dusty ground, a stark contrast to the wetness of Georgia, as he sprinted towards room 1A. HE gripped the gold knob and twisted. Locked.

No longer caring about the state of the motel, Dean sent a well placed and forceful kick to the weakest part of the door. It swung open and Dean rushed inside.

"Sam? Sammy!" He barked, lithely bounding around the bed. Sam was lying curled on the far side. His hands were pressed over his ears and small groans were coming from him.

Dean's eyes raked Sam's body, widening at the blood. Shit, it was everywhere. He dropped to his knees and peeled Sam's red-soaked shirt away from his side. Sam's back arched and a yell erupted from him. His hazel eyes shot open, meeting Dean's green ones.

"Sorry, Sam." Dean apologized tersely, pressing his hands to the wound in Sam's side. Luckily, it wasn't infected, so Dean wouldn't have to take Sam to the hospital. He'd be able to take care of his brother just fine.

"S'okay." Sam replied in a gravelly voice. Dean had never been so relieved to hear Sam's pain-twisted voice. "Sorry." He rasped, inhaling painfully. "Didn't know...who else to call." Dean almost wanted to slap Sam.

"You can always call me, man." He assured Sam, staring down at his red hands and not meeting his younger brother's eyes. If Sam thought he couldn't even call Dean for help, things were a lot worse than he'd previously thought. It would take a while to fix this.

"Need to...talk." Sam's voice was weakening, but there was strength in his eyes, trained intently on his older brother.

"Not now, man. Keep your strength." Sam grumbled but complied with Dean's words anyway. "The worst of the bleeding has stopped. I'm gonna have to stitch you up." He stated. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, losing control of his strength despite his best efforts to stay conscious.

"Kay." Dean couldn't believe how resigned Sam sounded. The complete trust interlaced in his voice threw the older man for a loop. He hadn't heard that since Sam was ten.

He worked efficiently to sew the cut, plowing through Sam's slight hisses of pain and the way he tensed every time Dean entered the needle into his ravaged skin. Every shift of discomfort, every grunt ripped through Dean. If he'd made Sam stay, if he'd reached out for Sam instead of withdrawing from him, they wouldn't be there.

"Thanks." Sam rasped when Dean was finally finished.

"Yeah." Dean nodded his head, dropping into the chair across the room from Sam. The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Dean cleared his throat and stood up. "I uh..." He gestured with his head to the door. Fear seized Sam's heart. Dean was leaving. He really didn't want to be with Sam anymore. "Gotta get my bag." Sam's heart stuttered as he stared at Dean with thinly veiled confusion. "I think we've learned what happens when we separate. We're better as a team." Sam relaxed, smirking contentedly. It would take a while to fix the massive canyon between the boys, but Sam knew. He knew that he could always call Dean.


	9. Brotherly Bond

**Thank you guys so much for reading this far, and a HUUGEEE thanks to those of you that have submitted reviews! It really motivates me to write more c: I have a huge favor to ask you guys, though! I've been running out of ideas for plots without sounding too repetitive, so if you have any ideas, anything that you want to see, please let me know! It would mean a whooolleee lot c:**

Dean cursed as he half ran, half slid down the muddy embankment. His eyes searched the swirling mass of water for his brother's gargantuan form, but much to Dean's chagrin, he saw nothing. It was a simple salt and burn, nothing that should have presented any real challenge for them. That's why it had caught them off guard like it had. They'd become cocky, thinking that a salt and burn was an easy thing. They should have known something would happen. They should have been more alert.

Dean should have been watching his younger brother more carefully. He had let Sam do all the digging, sat back against a tree a few yards away and rested his gun next to him. He'd leaned his head back, just a single moment of inattention, and Sam had disappeared. The only hint that Dean got was a short yell and a splash.

Dean dropped to his knees and plunged his hands into the murky water up to his elbows. A chill set in at the freezing water, well below forty degrees, as he moved his hands, searching for any sign of Sam. The current was strong, Sam could well be down the river by now, caught on a rock, a branch, banged his head, maybe he'd drowned already. Dean had no way of knowing.

"Dammit." Dean muttered and, without a second thought, stood and waded into the freezing water. His body began to tremble as he took a deep breath and plunged his head under the water, eyes open and straining against the dark water. The current was so heavy that it was churning up the mud and dirt on the bottom of the riverbed, it was nearly impossible to see anything. He broke the surface, taking another deep breath before submerging himself again and shoving off from the slippery edge of the river. His strong strokes powered him through the rushing water, but he could feel the convulsive chills start to weaken him. He had to keep going. Sam could be dead by now.

Dean kept swimming, ducking his head under the water in hopes that he could find anything to alert him of Sam's whereabouts. Suddenly, he caught sight of something swirling in the rushing current. With renewed vigor, the freezing man kicked heavily towards it and grasped the rough fabric in his hands. Sam's coat, but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Dean felt his lungs start to ache, so he broke the surface, chest heaving with the effort of keeping himself awake and swimming in the torrential water. Sam's coat dangled from his fingers and Dean felt a sudden terror seize him. No, Sam couldn't be dead. Dean wouldn't accept that. He'd tried so hard to keep his brother safe, too hard for Sam to be taken by a freaking river. Dean wouldn't...couldn't let that happen.

So he plunged himself under water again, releasing Sam's coat and searching with even more vitality than he'd originally had. He would save Sam. He was sure of it.

And then he finally saw it. An unnatural lump at the bottom of the river, held steadfast by a rock. It was too awkward to be anything else. He kicked towards it, hands grasping desperately at Sam's shoulders. The younger man's head flopped flaccidly about as Dean hauled the two of them to the surface. Their heads broke the waves, Dean gasping in air and kicking towards the bank. He finally heaved the two of them onto the muddy side, leaning back and taking a quick rest. Of course it would be a cold night in Kansas. They just couldn't catch a break, could they?

"Sam? Come on, don't do this to me Sammy." Dean crouched over Sam, grimy water dripping off of him and onto Sam's face. _I'm not crying. It's just because my eyes burn from being open underwater._ Dean told himself, chuckling mirthlessly. He reached down, pressing his fingers to Sam's neck, hoping against hope for something, anything. A little flutter of his heart, a weak cough, anything that would signal that Sam was alive.

It never came. Sam was limp, boneless...lifeless.

Dean had always thought that the CPR lessons his father made him take at the Red Cross in Cincinnati were pointless. He'd never had to use them before, and his certification ran out a month after he'd received it. But now he was thanking his father for forcing him to learn it on that stupid dummy three days a week after school.

Dean leaned over and pinched Sam's nose shut, breathing for his little brother. He was rewarded by the rise of Sam's chest once before the man fell limp again. Dean pumped his fists on Sam's chest in a rhythmic meter before leaning back over and pushing air into his wet lungs. This couldn't be happening. Sam had to live. Dean didn't think he could handle losing him **again.**

Dean didn't know how long the two of them sat there on that bank, Dean desperately trying to revive Sam, but with no luck. He didn't know how long Sam had been on the bottom of the river, and the blood that saturated his hair alerted Dean that he probably had a good sized gash somewhere on the side of his head.

Finally, Dean gave up and, as embarrassing as it was, collapsed onto Sam's chest with tears dripping down his cheeks. He hugged Sam's lifeless body and cried, and punched Sam in the chest, then cried some more, then screamed at the top of his lungs for Sam to wake up, until he finally accepted that his younger brother was probably never going to open his eyes again.

Dean didn't care that he could feel the hypothermia start to creep up on him. The frigid wind rushed through his hair and had him convulsing as he cried over Sam's corpse. Because that was what it was. It wasn't Sam anymore, it was just a corpse. A vessel that had once been his brother, but was nothing now.

Dean felt his eyes start to wander shut and he fell still, shivering slightly and breathing heavily, but other than that he was perfectly limp. He didn't care anymore. He'd much rather die here with his brother than have to live without him.

He rolled so he was lying on his back next to Sam, eyes lidded heavily as he stared up at the stars in the night sky. This was it. After everything the two of them had been through, they were going to die at the hands of mother nature herself.

"You're stamina is incredible." Dean bolted upright, eyes shooting towards Sam. Miraculously, his younger brother was awake, coughing roughly. He rolled to his knees, leaning over as he gagged a few times before finally falling quiet. Dean was bewildered and speechless. "How long have you been trying to make me breathe, man?" Sam asked as good-natured as he could after being dead for god knows how long.

"Couple minutes." Dean replied, words slurring together. Sam grunted as he climbed to his feet, reaching down to lug his brother off of the ground and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Because even though Sam had been dead, Dean was definitely worse off at the moment. "I don't need you to carry me, Sam." Dean snapped halfheartedly.

"Right, because you can definitely stand on your own." Sam replied in a tired, yet sarcastic tone. "It's not like you just swam in below forty water on a night where the high is about twenty degrees." He continued as he hiked up the steep embankment, grunting when his foot slipped and he just about dragged the both of them back into the water.

"Yeah but you died." Dean reminded him, but didn't seem to keen on walking on his own. No, he'd let Sam handle that.

Although, Dean could feel Sam's muscles trembling and protesting at the strain. He knew that Sam was extremely tired and beyond weak right now. But the young man trudged on, hiking he and his brother back to the Impala. He unceremoniously deposited Dean into the passenger seat, because even though Dean was weak and had just saved his life, Sam just couldn't resist the chance to torment him. Sam started the car, sighing in grateful content when warm air launched out of the heat vents at full blast.

Sam knew that they had to get back to the motel and get Dean changed into dry clothes before he either died from hypothermia, or became sick with Pneumonia. So he started the engine and pulled away from the cemetery, the only coherent thought in his head being: _Get Dean safe. Get Dean warm._ And Dean could tell with startled acknowledgment that not once did Sam stop to think about himself.

However, Dean wasn't nearly as grateful when Sam was bedridden a weak later with Pneumonia in his lungs and antibiotics going through his system. But even then, Dean couldn't find it in his heart to be angry with the kid. Because even though Dean had dove into freezing water to rescue Sam, Sam had neglected himself to save Dean's life too. And that was what a brotherly bond really was, sacrificing yourself to keep your brother safe.


	10. Shaddup

**I was led to an article on LiveJournal called "64 Damn Prompts for Every Fandom" and decided to use some of them! Enjoy! This prompt was "2 A.M"**

Sam scrunched his eyes shut against Dean's shuffles of discomfort and slight hitched breaths that he tried so hard to hide. It was probably somewhere around 2 in the morning, and Sam wished for sleep to steal him away. But his brother's labored breathing kept him awake, unfortunately. Sam hated sick Dean. It meant that both boys lay awake in the small motel room, which produced two cranky Winchester boys. And the only thing worse than a sick Dean was a sick and cranky Dean.

Sam tossed to his side, slamming a pillow over his head as Dean shot like a bullet out of bed and rushed himself into the bathroom, and winced as his older brother let out an ungodly noise that resembled a gag and a gurgle at the same time.

"Why did you let me eat the pie?" Dean grunted. Sam opened his eyes against the fluorescent light that spilled onto the grimy carpet from the small bathroom. He sat up, knowing there was no way he was getting to sleep now, and swung his lanky legs over the side of the bed.

"Because I rock." Sam replied, stepping into the bathroom where Dean had his cheek resting on the toilet seat. His eyes were closed and sweat made his skin shiny. He was flushed and Sam could hear that he was panting from the effort of unloading his dinner. The younger man reached down, resting the back of his hand on Dean's forehead.

"Shaddup." Dean batted his hand away, hating when Sam babied him. It was just wrong. He didn't mind being babied by the likes of Missouri Moseley, or his mother, but it went against everything Dean had been taught when Sam treated him like he was the younger brother. No, it was Dean's job to care for Sam, not the other way around.

"Dude, stop being such a little bitch and let me take care of you." Sam huffed in irritation. Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head, closing his eyes against the cool porcelain of his best friend for the night.

"No way man. You're no hot nurse." Dean replied half-heartedly. Sam could see that the conversation was making him weary, but that didn't stop him from poking at Dean until he finally agreed to let Sam take care of him.

"If you don't let me help you, both of us are going to lay awake all night. I have a hard enough time getting to sleep as it is." Sam reminded his older brother, not missing the wince that Dean gave. Of course he should have thought of it. Sam was the worst insomniac, and the few times he did get to sleep, he was usually plagued with nightmares that woke him up even as Dean slept through them.

"Yeah, you're right." Dean replied, but showed no signs of caving. No way in hell was he going to let Sam care for him. Nuh uh, Dean was independent and well over twenty five. He knew damn well how to take care of himself.

"Come on man, stop being so stubborn." Sam complained, his voice almost turning into a whine.

"No. Go to bed, Sammy." Dean replied, clamping his mouth shut as his stomach rolled again. He took a few deep breaths, hoping it would pass. He had no such luck as he lurched forward, practically shoving his head into the toilet water as every last piece of food he'd eaten in the past week came up his throat.

"You're so prideful." Sam sighed and dropped to his knees next to his older brother, pressing a wet washrag to Dean's forehead. "Its gonna be your downfall one of these days. You could be dying and you'd still refuse to let me help you." Dean wanted to deny it, but the last round with the toilet had left his throat and nose burning. "Here." Sam shoved a glass of water into his hand, patting the side of his neck briefly before standing back up. "When you're done in here, let's get you to bed. The only thing you're gonna do to yourself by staying in here all night is give yourself even more back problems than you've already got." Sam couldn't help but to ad, "Old man." To the end of his sentence.

"Shaddup." Dean snapped in reply, taking a swig of the water and spewing it into the toilet bowl. He quickly flushed the toilet and wiped his mouth with the wet rag before stumbling past Sam, who was standing just outside the door. "Stop hovering." He mumbled, falling into his bed and dragging the sheets up to his chin. Sam smirked, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not hovering." He replied, snapping off the harsh bathroom light and crawling into his bed. He straightened his rumpled sheets over his large body and turned off the lamp on the table between their beds. He then rolled over, turning his back to Dean and burying his head in the pillows. "Now let me get some sleep, would you? Or else you're gonna have to deal with me in the morning." Sam muttered grumpily. Dean snorted at that, lying on his back and staring up into the darkness.

"I have to deal with you anyway, man." Dean reminded him with a jokingly irate tone. Sam let out a small 'hmph' in response, making Dean chuckle almost silently.

"Night Dean." Sam's voice came a few seconds later, laced with sleepiness and fond frustration.

"Night Sammy." Dean replied, smirking and rolling onto his side, his eyes finally sliding shut.


	11. Without Question

**Just some good, old fashioned limp!Sam c: Enjoy!**

Sam let out a next to silent huff, fighting to keep his hands in his lap. Light stabbed behind his closed eyelids and he could feel the bear creeping up on him. His muscles ached, a tell-tale sign that one of his dreaded migraines was coming on, and slight aches of pain dulled his thoughts and made it hard to focus on what Dean was saying. He tried to hone in on whatever hunt Dean was babbling on about as the two rolled down the two lane blacktop, tried to show that he wasn't in pain, that he was fine. It seemed to be working; Dean didn't seem to notice anything off about his younger brother.

"You still with me, man?" Dean's voice cut through his hazy thoughts. Sam's eyes shot open and he turned to look at Dean, trying his best to look nonchalant.

"I'm fine." He replied, almost smiling victoriously when he voice remained steady. Dean didn't seem to buy it.

"Uh huh." His older brother responded, turning his eyes back to the road. "You're an idiot." Sam's mouth dropped open in bewilderment at the unwarranted comment. "I can tell you have a headache, man. I'm not stupid." Sam hunched his shoulders in defeat, shrugging noncommittally.

"It's not that bad." A lie. It was slowly getting worse. The dull throbbing had turned into a hot, but constant pain. Sam could deal with that. It was the flashes, like someone was shoving a hot poker through his head and then removing it, waiting until he was almost feeling okay again, and then doing it again twice as hard, that he couldn't handle. It was those that always had him leaning over the toilet retching up whatever may be in his stomach.

"If we need to stop, just tell me." Was the only thing Dean responded with. Sam was stubborn, Dean knew that. There was no way the older man could convince his sibling to tell him the truth about his pain. He'd just have to wait until Sam broke.

That happened about ten minutes later. With a sudden cry, Sam lurched forward, heavily resting his head on the cool dashboard as he clutched at his head. There it was. The flashes that always had him down and out for the count.

Dean pulled off at the next exit with a motel, pulling into the parking lot of the dumpy motel. It couldn't even be considered a two star. Maybe like a half star place? Dean didn't really care. They'd stayed in worse, and Sam was in pain. He didn't say anything as he closed the Impala door as soft as he could so as not to upset his sensitive brother and trekked into the office. The man behind the front desk was only slightly cleaner than the exterior of the place, and Dean wondered how he was even still in business. After thanking the man for the room, he hurried back outside and pulled into the parking spot right in front of their room. There were two or three other cars in the parking lot, but other than that the two were alone.

Dean hurried around to the other side of the car and softly opened the door, crouching and resting his hand softly on Sam's shoulder.

"Come on man, gotta get into the room before I can give you your medicine." Sam grunted, his eyes moving behind his closed lids. Dean frowned sympathetically and slid his arm around Sam's shoulders, hoisting the lanky kid…man, out of his seat. Sam couldn't hold back the small groan that came with it and Dean winced. He hated to put Sam in pain, but he couldn't give Sam his prescription pills until he got his little brother inside the room.

Though Dean could tell his head was killing him, almost literally, Sam's steps were diligent and steady as the two made their way to the room. Dean unlocked the room as if a demon were trailing their ass, as quickly as he knew possible, and walked Sam inside. The younger man fell blindly onto the first bed he felt, curling into a ball and pressing his fingers into the side of his head. Dean smirked. _Amateur._

With the practiced touch of someone who had dealt with thousands of Sam's migraines before, Dean pressed two fingers onto the back of his little brother's neck, just below his hair line. Sam's muscles started to loosen as relief came with Dean's pressure. He wasn't sure why, but that had always made him feel better when he had those skull-shattering migraines.

"I'm gonna go get our bags from the car. Don't let your brain explode all over the sheets while I'm gone." Dean called over his shoulder, chuckling as Sam let out a half-assed laugh of sarcasm. The elder brother hurried to grab their bags and emergency weapons, just in case, and bounded back inside the room with a cat-like gait. After closing the door as quietly as he could and drawing the curtains, Dean dug haphazardly through Sam's bags for his bottle of migraine pills. He finally found them, laughing victoriously and holding them up in the dim light.

"Dean…" Sam groaned, shifting on the bed. Dean frowned and made his way to his brother's side with a glass of water in his fingers. He pressed the glass into Sam's hand along with two of the pills and nodded approvingly as Sam downed them along with the whole glass of water.

"Atta boy." He couldn't help but adding, much to Sam's displeasure.

"I'm not ten anymore, Dean. Stop talking to me like I'm a little boy." He grumbled in frustration. Dean didn't reply, dragging one of the rickety chairs up to the side of Sam's bed. It was more of a habit than a precaution. He'd always sat with Sam through migraines, even though the younger boy had always vehemently protested it.

"Sorry." Dean shrugged, not sounding all that sorry. He knew Sam would've liked to go to sleep, but he also knew that the migraine medication he'd been prescribed during his time at Stanford kept him awake and alert. It was silent between the two brothers before Sam broke it, his voice sounding stronger and less weepy than it had.

"I remember the first migraine I had at Stanford." He started, rolling over to stare at Dean with heavily lidded, yet fully lucid eyes. "Jess was freaking out." He chuckled mirthlessly, reaching up to swipe his bangs out of his eyes. He definitely needed to get them trimmed. "She gave me whatever she could think of, Tylenol, Advil, Aspirin, but nothing seemed to work. I can remember that the only thing I wanted was you." That was how Dean knew Sam had a migraine. He'd never admit this to his older brother were he fully aware. "I just needed your voice, your fingers on the back of my neck. I almost called you." He admitted. Dean succumbed to the chick-flick moment and leaned over Sam, fondly brushing his hair out of his face again.

"Why didn't you, Sammy?" He asked, resting his fingertips lightly on the side of Sam's head and scratching just barely.

"Didn't think you'd answer. Maybe you'd be busy hunting. Lots of reasons. Mostly I was just scared." Sam frowned, eyebrows drawing together in pain. "I thought you and dad hated me for leaving. I never really forgave myself for it." Dean frowned down at his little brother, who was no longer looking at him. He'd never told any of this to Dean.

"For what, Sam?" He asked in the same gentle tone he'd been using previously. When Sam was in a delicate state like this, the only way to talk to him was softly.

"Leaving you guys. It wasn't…I didn't want to." He admitted. And there were the words Dean had wanted to hear ever since Sam had walked out that day. Damn, it felt good. But that raised another question.

"Then why did you leave, buddy?" He asked, raking his fingers comfortingly through Sam's soft hair.

"Because I wasn't good enough." Dean felt a lump rise in his throat and a pressure erupted behind his eyes. For god's sakes, really? He wasn't about to cry just because Sam had told him he didn't think he was good enough.

But wasn't that something to cry about? Didn't that mean that Dean had failed as Sam's older brother? An older brother was supposed to lift their siblings up, make them believe they could do anything. Not make them think they weren't good enough.

"Why would you say that, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, neck burning in embarrassment. Sam didn't seem to notice, however.

"Because I fought with dad a lot. Because I was the weak link. I was never as strong as you and dad were. I wasn't trained enough, I guess. Maybe I just wasn't willing to give my life up for the one that I was supposed to live. For whatever reason, I was always just the weakest one. So I thought maybe leaving would fix it. But it really just made things a whole lot worse." Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sam had battled with this the whole time he'd been gone? And the fact that neither Dean nor his father had bothered to get into contact with Sam just made things twenty times worse.

"That's bullshit man." Dean protested firmly. He leaned over Sam, placing his hands on Sam's cheeks and making his younger brother look at him. "You're not weak. You never were, Sammy. You know the reason you weren't as strong as us? The reason dad never pushed you as hard as he pushed me?" Sam nodded reluctantly, staring at Dean's passionately furious hazel eyes. Dean was kinda scary when he got this way. "Because you're the younger brother, and it isn't your job to be strong." Sam's mouth opened, but no words came out. He was seized with something, something nice and fuzzy. A warmness crawled through him and made the pressure in his throat build, the pressure he'd been trying to push down ever since he'd started talking about this. "It's my job to take care of you Sammy, but it isn't actually a job, not really. It isn't a chore, or something that I wish I didn't have to do. It's something I look forward to every day when I wake up man. Because you're my little brother, no matter how old you are, or how gigantic you grow, you're always my little brother and I will always be around to protect you. That's why you weren't as strong." Sam felt a few tears escape the corners of his eyes and slide down his cheeks. Dean smiled affectionately and brushed Sam's tears away, and for just a moment, Sam got a glimpse of his caring older brother, not the hardened exterior that he put on every day, but pure, unadulterated big brother Dean Winchester. And it was definitely a refreshing glance. A reminder that Sam wasn't alone in the world. A reminder that he never really would be. And he was going to accept that without question.

**You guys might get a kick out of this, but I actually started developing a migraine while I was writing this. I guess that's what I get for trying to stare at a computer screen for two hours without my glasses on! I wasn't really sure where I was gonna go with this oneshot, but I'm pretty satisfied with where it turned out. R&R! Love you all! :)**


	12. We're Gonna Be Okay

**Hey guys! This was also from that 64 prompts thing. This prompt is "Sky". Enjoy!**

Sam leaned against the side of the Impala, raising the brown bottle to his lips and taking a swig of beer. The sour liquid washed down his throat and a smirk wound onto his face as he heard Dean curse lightly from under the raised hood.

"Having some issues?" He called, finished off his beer in one last swallow.

"No." Dean snapped crossly. Sam held back a snarky reply, rolling his eyes. His older brother had been in a bad mood since the last hunt. Though, Sam didn't really blame him. He wasn't in the best of moods either, and every time he closed his eyes he could still clearly see the resigned face of the woman as she was ripped apart mercilessly.

Shaking his head, Sam pushed off the Impala. Okay, so he'd taken some more damage than he'd told Dean. His steps staggered and he fall back, the bright blue sky reeling above him as he found himself lying on his back.

Dean heard the sickening thud of Sam's 6'4 frame hit the ground/. His head popped out from under the hood to see his little brother sitting on the ground holding the back of his head with pain etched across his face.

"You good?" Dean called, backing away from the car and picking his way through the tools littering the pavement around the Impala to bend down in front of Sam.

"Yeah." Sam waved Dean away, pushing himself to his feet. His face paled considerably and his swayed before finding his balance.

"Sure?" Dean asked reluctantly. He wasn't sure the younger man was telling him everything.

"I'm fine." Sam assured firmly, pushing away his hovering brother. Not that Sam didn't like that Dean was worried about him, but he was a little frustrated with the mother hen routine. Sam wasn't sure why, but his elder brother had been especially worrisome lately. Sam figured it had something to do with the fact that it was Satan vision in his head.

"Whatever." Dean huffed, going back to his car. Sam pulled a face at his back, wincing as a flash of pain shot through him. Karma he supposed, for acting so immature.

Fine was a relative term, really. He was far from fine mentally. But physically, he'd be okay. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he glanced up as Dean gripped the hood tightly and slammed it shut.

"She gonna be okay?" Sam asked curiously as Dean wiped his hands on a rag and then rubbed it across his grease spattered face.

"Yeah, she's fine." Dean patted the top of his sturdy car, grinning. Sam smiled as the two climbed in, pulling back onto the blacktop. Sam rested his forehead on the cool window, ignoring the pain flashing through his body, and stared up at the birds in the sky.

How he wished he could be up there with the birds. The life got to him. A lot. He didn't know how Dean could do it so easily, but then again, Sam had always been the sensitive one. Sometimes, Sam wished he had never left Stanford with his brother all those years ago. He hated himself for even bothering with the notion, but it chewed at him every day. Maybe Jess would still be alive. Maybe they'd be married. Sam would be graduated, a successful lawyer. He wouldn't have gone to hell. Dean wouldn't have died and gone to hell. He never would have released Lucifer and started the apocalypse. Their dad would have found and killed the yellow eyed demon with no problem. Despite himself, Sam smiled humorlessly. It never could've happened that way. His so-called friends had been demons. They would've struck eventually. Sam was better off with Dean. This was where he belonged, in the passenger seat of the 1967 Chevy Impala with Legos in the vents that rattled when the heater was on and army men stuck in the ashtrays.

No matter how much Sam realized and accepted this, though, he couldn't shake the heavy, oppressing feeling that came from all of his what-if's.

"Thinking about what might've been isn't going to get you anywhere." Sam blinked with startled awareness, turning to look at Dean. His older brother wasn't looking at him, eyes instead trained on the never ending road.

"How did you…"

"It's gonna destroy you, Sam. All of this regret, the doubt, the guilt. It'll chew away at your mind until there's nothing left." Sam heard the underlying words: _You're already going crazy._ "You can't let it get to you like this. What's done is done. The past is in the past. We're fucked up man, pretty much beyond repair. Hell does that to a person. But you gotta look forward, put one foot in front of the other." Sam wasn't sure if Dean's intent was to make him feel better, or if it was to tell it like it is. The latter sounded more like Dean.

"I'm tired of life, man." Sam admitted. "I just want to die." Of course Dean knew that. He frequently felt that way too. But to hear the words spoken out loud in his brother's deep and broken voice struck a chord in him. His hands tightened on the wheel and his jaw clenched painfully. He unknowingly pushed harder on the accelerator, lurching the Impala forward even faster.

"Too damn bad, Sammy. You don't get out that easy." Dean replied curtly. Sam nodded, letting out a sight.

"I know." It fell silent in the car again. Not even the radio was playing. Both brothers were stuck deep in thought, neither one of them even realizing the other was there.

"Do you want to go back?" Dean asked suddenly. He wasn't exactly sure what had possessed him to ask the question so abruptly. His heart pounded painfully in his throat as he waited in anticipation for Sam's answer.

Dean didn't need to elaborate for Sam to know he meant Stanford. He pondered the question thoughtfully. Did he?

"No." he replied, not missing Dean's tense shoulders sag with relief. "I like to think I would. Maybe I could have another chance at being normal." He laughed dryly, shaking his head and letting his bangs cover his eyes. "No, I belong with you, hunting. I always have, and I'm done trying to fool myself otherwise." Dean frowned, staring straight ahead as his fingers curled even tighter around the wheel. He thought maybe they would break.

"I wish things were different, Sammy. I really do. I wish you could be normal. I wish I hadn't dragged you back in. You were so close to being out." He'd voiced it many times before, but it never lessened his inconsolable guilt. _He_ was the one who carelessly yanked Sam back in._ He_ was the one who had pulled him away from his life. It was all_ his_ fault. _Damn, what kind of an older brother am I? _Maybe it was even Dean's fault that Jessica was dead.

"Stop it, man. It's not your fault." Sam berated his older brother, knowing exactly what was going through Dean's head by the look on his face. "It would've happened anyway. No matter what path I could have taken, I would always inevitably end up right here. It's where I'm supposed to be." Dean knew it was true, but god how he wished it wasn't. He wished Sam could have the life he wanted, away from hunting. And it was all because of that stupid yellow-eyed demon. No…it was all because of Mary Winchester.

Dean couldn't help the boiling pit of rage and animosity that stewed inside of him towards his mother. How could she do this to them? How could she sell out her own child? How could she drive their father to insanity? Because people are selfish. She wanted out, just like Sam. The only difference was that Sam wasn't willing to sacrifice his family to get it, and she had. _Like father like daughter._

"You're thinking about mom aren't you? I can tell from your expression and the way you look like you're going to snap the Impala's steering wheel in half." Sam tore him from his reverie.

"Yeah." Dean scoffed, easing his tight grip on the steering wheel and unclenching his jaw.

"Holding grudges is unhealthy for the mind." And even Sam couldn't help joining in with Dean's cynical, slightly hysterical laughter.

"You know we're going to be okay, right Sam?" Dean asked once they had calmed down. Sam smiled softly, looking back up at the blue sky.

"Yeah, I know."


	13. Sooner Or Later

**I'd like to thank reader and reviewer Zendog for giving me this prompt! **

Sam sighed, rubbing his aching temples and looking up from the large book that sat in front of him. When he'd asked the librarian for a book on ancient curses and witchcraft lore, she'd given him the strangest look, but now he was starting to wish she had refused him. The print was small, and the book was entirely in Latin. He was starting to really hate this hunt.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Everyone around him gave him nasty looks as he hurried outside to answer the call from his brother. He sat on the front steps of the Richmond Public Library and pressed the green answer button, holding it up to his ear.

"Yeah, what'd you find out?" He greeted, getting straight to business.

"Absolutely nothing." Dean replied in a disheartened tone. Sam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in between his thumb and forefinger, and feeling his headache intensify. "Guess what though?" Dean was asking as Sam's hands began to shake. He felt a dark presence try to creep into his mind, oppressing his thoughts and making it hard to focus or breathe. "Sam?" Dean snapped. Sam could practically hear him roll his eyes. "This isn't the time to be playing your stupid immature games, answer me." He commanded, taking on the only tone he knew how to use when he was actually worried. That was the John Winchester tone.

"Dean…'' Sam managed to get out before the phone fell to the ground, the screen cracking and going black. Sam clutched at his head, slamming his eyes shut and trying not to scream out loud. His mind blanked and his entire world went dark, bringing sweet relief.

Sam's body stood up, a dark smile resting on his face as he held his arms out in front of him, curling his finger and uncurling them.

"Oh, I like this body." The spirit inside of him grinned, slipping his hands into this pocket and taking jaunty steps down the library stairs.

As he was walking down the street, deciding what to do and where to go, a black muscle car roared up beside him. The driver quickly shut off the engine and got out of the car, rushing towards him calling a name. _Oh, I must be Sam._

"Sam, what's going on? Where's your phone?" The man asked, grasping 'Sam's' arm tightly. The spirit turned around, trying to shake the grip of the man.

"Who are you?" The spirit didn't even try to play along. "This is my body now. So, you can leave." The man with short hair stepped back as if he'd been shocked. The spirit smiled. "This is fun. Let's see if we can pull some memories." The spirit reached back into the mind of the man he was possessing, grinning when the man let out a yell of pain inside his head. "Oh, you're Dean. You're Sam's older brother. Aw, you took care of him? So cute. Little brother says hi. Wow, his noggins a real mess. It's like constant Satan vision. Must suck, being tortured like that. Oh, but I guess you didn't know that he doesn't have it all together." Dean looked like someone had sucked all of the air out of him. Sam stood back, watching with a broken heart and trying desperately to take his body back. He hated that the spirit was doing this to Dean. There was a reason he'd kept all of this a secret, and it was so that he wouldn't have to see that look on Dean's face. "Aw, little brother was trying to protect you, Dean. He didn't want you to know any of this. Of course, you knew he's been seeing Satan all over the place. And you know that the wall came tumbling down. But you don't know the extent of it. Sammy's messed up, Dean. He's got so much wrong with him. I'm surprised he's still upright and not a big drooling mess on the floor." Dean smirked cockily, throwing up a mask so the spirit wouldn't know how much this was really messing with him.

"He's pretty strong. Too strong to let a wimpy spirit like you keep control of him for much longer." The spirit sneered at that, reaching out and gripping Dean's neck tightly. Dean reached up, grasping at Sam's arm as his hand tightened, cutting off Dean's air supply.

"Little bro's given up Dean. So don't stand there and tell me how much stronger he is than me. He's not strong at all. Not when he has to live with all of this in his head. Maybe he's strong enough to stay partially sane, but he isn't strong enough to fight an ancient spirit like me. For thousands of years I was locked in that stupid book, and he let me out. He opened the book. And I quite like this body, so I'm here to stay." The spirit released Dean, smirking as the older man stumbled away, coughing and wheezing while he tried to regain his breath.

"Come on Sammy, I know you're in there." Dean begged, leaning against the side of the impala. The spirit smirked, looking up as if deep in thought.

"Yeah, he's in here. He can hear you loud and clear. He's trying Dean, but he's quite weak mentally. He's unstable. He's a ticking time bomb, and it won't be long until he blows. And until then, I'll stay. So, this is goodbye I guess. Say bye to Sammy now." The spirit lifted his hand in a wave before spinning around and walking away. Dean would have lost all hope. Dean would have collapsed there next to his car and given up. He would have, except he saw Sam's steps falter, and that's when he knew Sam was fighting back with everything he had. His hand came up to his head and he spun around, looking torn.

"Dean." That was Sam's voice. Dean was sure of it. He hurried to his brother's side, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm here, little brother." Dean assured, giving him the strength he needed to fight this spirit out of his body. "You can do it." That was all Sam needed. With one last final heave, he had trapped the spirit into a corner of his mind.

"I have it held. We need to get that book." Sam winced at the loud screaming in his head, screams of refusal and curses spat in a voice that wasn't his. "Now."

The two brothers hurried back to the library, rushing to the table where Sam's book sat untouched. Dean was glad the page was still open to the last one Sam had looked at. And how about that, it was a spell on how to trap spirits inside the book. Like the spirit had said, it had been trapped in that book for thousands of years, on that page forever.

Dean spoke the spell in a quiet tone, hoping to not disturb anyone else in the library. Sam winced, breath catching as one last yell of stubbornness echoed through his head, and then he was alone again. Shaken by the events and strangely weak, Sam's legs gave out and he collapsed, grasping the table to keep himself upright.

"Easy there, tiger." Dean's hands gripped his shoulders with surprisingly soft tenderness. "Man, I can't take you anywhere can I?" He asked humorously, though Sam could hear the tense worry underneath it.

"Guess not." Sam chuckled along with him, panting breathlessly.

"We're gonna have to talk about it, sooner or later." Dean suddenly said, making Sam turn to look at him with a confused face. "Hell." Sam winced, shaking his head. "Not anytime in the near future, don't worry. But…I don't want you to have to go through this alone man. There's a reason I'm here, and it isn't just to exorcise you of stubborn spirits who like to butt into your personal space."


	14. We Can't Save Everyone

**This is another prompt given to me by Zendog!**

"I'll take upstairs, you take down." Sam didn't look at Dean as he moved to the stairs of the abandoned house. A haunted house. How cliché! He snorted, making his way up the derelict stairs. He made sure to step lightly, he didn't need to fall through and possibly break both of his legs. That was just a disaster waiting to happen.

Sam didn't know if the spirit was lurking in the dark corners, waiting for the perfect moment to strike as he traversed the dark halls, flashlight illuminating the dirty carpeting, sullied from years of neglect. His gun was held steadily in his hand, rock salt loaded and ready to shoot the bastard should he decide to show his ugly face.

A sudden movement from one of the rooms adjacent to him made him freeze and turn his gun towards it. He reached out, placing his hand on the cold door and shoving it open softly. It made a slight creaking noise as it opened to reveal the bedroom beyond, furniture covered by dusty white sheets. Another freakin' cliché!

A soft whimper met his ears and Sam cocked his head in confusion.

"Hello?" he called out, going against every instinct that screamed at him to stay quiet. The whimpers quieted before the closet door on the far side of the room opened slowly to reveal a young, pale face staring out at him. "It's okay; I'm here to help you." Sam stepped gracefully around the holes in the floor, bending down to eye level with the girl crouched in the closet.

"He's going to come back." The girl rasped. She couldn't have been older than twelve. "It was just a stupid dare. I knew it was a bad idea, but they were going to make fun of me for years if I didn't do it. I thought I was going to die." She admitted, hands shaking heavily.

"It's okay. I'm…" Before Sam could finish his sentence, something twisted in his guts and he was thrown into the wall. He let out an involuntary grunt as he felt something sharp pierce his back on the right side. Fantastic. The broken leg of a chair. He'd been thrown on the broken leg of a chair. A very sharp broken leg.

He felt blood start to spread, quickly soaking through his shirt as he landed on his feet. He staggered, raising his gun and shooting with harried aim. He missed the spirit completely as it advanced towards the little girl. She cowered to the back of the closet, covering her face with her hands as Sam rushed as fast as he could towards them.

"I'm sorry please!" The girl screamed as blood suddenly started spreading on her shirt. The spirit grinned sadistically, removing his claw like hand from her shoulder where he had pierced her. Sam felt his world tilt as he raised his gun once more. The shot rang out, hitting its mark. The spirit disappeared with a blast of cold air as Sam stumbled over to the little girl. Her eyes were rolling back into her head and fluttering shut. Her breathing shallowed out and Sam cursed angrily. He was too weak to carry her. He could barely even hold himself up. He knew he would need Dean's help to get out of the house, but Dean couldn't help him and carry the young girl. One of them would have to stay, and by the time Dean returned to help the other, they would probably be dead, either from blood loss or from the spirit taking them out.

Sam collapsed in front of the girl, placing two fingers on her neck. Her pulse fluttered weakly against his fingers and he could see the blood also seep from her head. She must have hit it when she'd thrown it back in pain. Dammit. Sam leaned back against the wall next to her, putting as much pressure as he could on her shoulder wound.

"Sam?!" Dean's worried voice came from the hall. Sam raised his voice weakly, calling out to his older brother.

"In here." He yelled, hoping Dean would hear the weak yell. A few seconds later, Dean's bright green eyes appeared in the darkness. His flashlight rested on Sam and the young girl, eyes raking the two of them.

"Shit." Sam nodded in agreement. Dean had clearly realized the same thing as his younger brother had. One of them would have to stay. "I can only take one of you outside." _I can only save one of you._

"Leave me. Take her." Dean's face looked torn. Their job was to save innocent people, but Sam was his little brother. His big brother instinct was kicking in, despite his efforts to hold it down.

"Sammy, no." Dean shook his head firmly. "I'm not leaving you in here to die." He stated.

"I'm not going to let you leave this child in here to die either." Sam shot back, eyes glinting furiously in the light of Dean's flashlight. He would win this. He would make Dean save the little girl. There was no other way to do it. Sam was well into his twenties, he'd had time to go to high school, college even. If Dean left the little girl in here, she would never get the chance to experience those things.

"I can't…you're my little brother, Sam." Dean tried to make his younger sibling understand. Sam remained silent, biting his lip. The girl's labored breathing cut through the otherwise silent air. Sam felt tears start to rise in his eyes. It wasn't fair. _She did this to herself._ His colder side reminded him. _She didn't have to go into the creepy haunted house. _Sam shook himself. It wasn't her fault. _You know it is, Sam._

"I don't know what to do." Sam whispered, hand falling weakly away from the girl's shoulder. The lack of pressure jolted her awake and she rolled her head towards him, eyes open just barely.

"Leave me." She rasped. "I'm as good as dead." She coughed, blood bubbling from her mouth and dribbling down her chin. Sam shook his head, raising his chin defiantly.

"No."

**SPN**

Dean looked down at the headstone, resting his hands in the pockets of his pants. He'd worn his nice suit, the Fed one, with a bright green tie. Despite his best efforts, he felt tears prick at his eyes. How could he let this happen? How could he have done this?

A hand suddenly came down on his shoulder. Dean looked up, meeting the person's eyes.

"There was nothing you could have done, man. She was gone before we even finished our conversation." Sam's eyes, bloodshot and sad, bore into his. Dean knew he was taking this much harder than his older brother. Sam had also worn his best suit, with a neon green tie as well.

_"Neon green, because it was Ali's favorite color."_ Her older sister had told them in the department store, holding out two ties for them.

"Thank you for coming, you two. If Ali were here, she'd be glad." Catherine came up to them, grabbing both of their hands. Dean's eyes raked her face. Tears were still streaking down her face, and it was clear that the loss of her little sister wasn't something that would ever be okay, but a small smile still graced her lips. Sam squeezed her hand, remembering the weak grip that Ali had taken on his hand in her last moments.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do anything to save your little sister." Sam's voice cracked at the end and he looked away, feeling more tears squeeze out of his eyes. Dean looked down at the ground, unable to hold his tears back any longer. He reached up with his free hand and pressed the back of his hand to his eyes tightly.

"It's okay." Catherine sounded resigned, even slightly happy. "I love my little sister more than anything else in the world, but she was all about family. She wouldn't have sacrificed herself if she didn't think you guys were worth it. But Dean?" The man looked up, meeting her eyes with green ones that had become more vibrantly colored with the advent of his tears, which he couldn't seem to stop anymore. "Take good care of your little brother okay? The bond that you two have, it isn't something you see every day. You should cherish that." Dean nodded, feeling his throat close. "Thank you guys." Catherine gave each of their hands another squeeze before walking away from the grave and climbing into her mother's car.

"We can't save everyone man." Sam's voice sounded weepy, and the words weren't very convincing. They had let an eleven year old girl bleed to death.

"We can save each other." Dean replied, looking up at his brother with tears still trickling down his cheeks. "Sammy, I know I've never said it before, but I love you." Sam nodded, shoving his hands deeply into his pockets and turning to the Impala.

"I know. I love you too."


	15. Let Me Take the Weight

**The inspiration for this particular story came from a video I saw of Jensen Ackles singing the song The Weight originally performed by The Band because the lyrics talk about taking off a load and "put it right on me. Hope you guys enjoy! C:**

**THIS IS SET early season 1 right after Jess dies.**

Sam stared at his laptop screen glowing brightly in the otherwise pitch-black motel room. A headache throbbed throughout his skull and it felt as if he was going to explode, sending shards of his skull and clumps of brain matter every which way. Man, how he wished he could just explode. That would definitely make everything easier. Shaking his head and rubbing at his dry eyes, Sam glanced over at his brother's sleeping form on the motel bed. Sam was envious of his elder sibling's seemingly uninterrupted sleep and let out a soft sigh.

He hadn't been able to sleep a full night ever since the funeral. Sam's chest ached and he subconsciously rubbed at it. The mere thought of Jess sent a deep frown onto his face. He wasn't sure how long he could keep his mask up. He was sure he'd been fooling Dean so far, making his older brother think that he wasn't deep into a pit of depression. He was sure his older brother hadn't noticed the sleepless nights. Of course he knew about the nightmares, but that was only when Sam did finally get to sleep. Dean didn't need to know that though.

The blue light from his laptop screen cast an eerie glow on the walls and made strange shadows out of the furniture. Sam thought he saw something flicker out of the corner of his eye, but was sure it was just his mind playing tricks. After all, he hadn't slept in days. Who knew what kind of hallucinations he would start having soon.

Dean rolled over suddenly with a heavy breath, making Sam jolt in surprise. He glanced over to see if Dean was still asleep and breathed an involuntary sigh of relief when he saw that his sibling was still dead away.

He hated hiding things from Dean like this, but he wasn't yet sure how exactly to be with his brother. He'd been gone for several years, and things had definitely changed between the two previously inseparable brothers. Honestly, Sam just wasn't sure he could talk to Dean anymore. It wasn't that he didn't trust Dean. It was that he wasn't sure how to be with Dean anymore. Was he still Dean's little brother? Would Dean still feel that protective pull over him? He still called the younger man Sammy, so he had that to hold onto. It wasn't enough.

Sam missed being able to talk to Dean freely, without all of these worries and trepidations. He missed being small enough to crawl into bed with his older brother, curl up into his side and feel Dean's muscled arms come around him. Miss being able to cry into his shoulder about the fact that their father had once again missed Sam's birthday or, when he was old enough, his first break up. But Dean had stopped being physical with Sam like that when he'd turned thirteen, because Winchesters didn't do cuddling and they'd both be sent through the wringer if their father had seen them like that.

"Sleep is a good thing, Sam." Dean's voice, laced with sleepiness and faint irritation, made Sam gasp and tip back in his chair, falling to the grimy carpet with a puff of air.

"What?" He asked, completely out of it. Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam's lack of awareness. Something was going on in his mind, but Dean didn't know how to bring it up. He wasn't even sure Sam would want to talk to him anymore. After all these years, after Sam had rejected not only their father but his older brother as well, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to be pushed away again if he tried to talk to his little brother. They hadn't fallen back into the routine. They weren't inseparable anymore. Somewhere between when Sam had left and when Dean had picked him up again, the younger boy had turned into a man and become an independent thinker. Dean just didn't know how to deal with that.

"Stop researching and get to sleep." Dean replied gruffly, flipping over. Sam blinked up at his laptop. Oh, that's right. He'd been researching. However, instead of picking himself off the floor and closing his laptop, crawling into bed to make his brother happy, but always ending up staring up at the darkness all night, Sam remained lying on the ground, lacking the motivation to pick himself off the floor. When Dean didn't hear his brother start to move, he sat up and reached over, flipping on the light. Sam was still lying on the ground, eyes staring up at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. "Sam. Get up." Dean commanded. The man didn't acknowledge that he'd heard his older brother. "SAM." Dean snapped, seeming to bring the boy back to the real world.

"What? Sorry, right. Bed." Sam replied, picking himself heavily off the ground. Dean didn't like the way he moved slowly, as if he were several years older. He didn't like the hunch that Sam stood with, the way his shoulders moved up around his head as if he were trying to sink in on himself. In the few months they'd been together since Jessica's death, Sam had seemed much smaller than usual, almost like he were trying to fold in on himself and protect himself from whatever was out there. Dean hated it.

He watched his younger brother close his laptop and change into a pair of sweatpants and throw a sweatshirt over his t-shirt before climbing into bed. Dean turned the lamp back off and rolled over, covering his head with a pillow in hopes to block out the pitiful noises Sam was sure to make if he fell asleep and started to have nightmares.

Lying in bed, Sam steeled himself. He was going to do it. He was going to break down the wall that had grown between he and his older brother. He was going to do the one thing that Winchesters never did. He was going to ask for help.

"Hey Dean?" He asked hesitantly, watching as Dean's form squirmed slightly before his older brother sighed and responded.

"Yeah?" He asked, not really wanting to have any conversations at three in the morning. Sam didn't seem to care, however.

"I uh…" Sam stammered, suddenly at a loss for words. What was he going to say again? Why had he bothered Dean out of the blue like that?

"Sam?" Dean asked, immediately on alert. Sam never stuttered like that, never tripped over his own tongue.

"Dean, man, I…I need help." Sam finally admitted, his voice cracking slightly at the end of his sentence. Dean narrowed his eyes in confusion, but didn't say anything as Sam continued with his sentence. "I don't sleep man, I can't stop thinking about Jess, and I know that finding her killer, getting revenge, it isn't going to change anything, but it hurts so bad man and I just…" Sam stopped, taking a deep breath to calm himself down slightly. "I don't want to push you away anymore, Dean." His voice wavered and Dean heard him sniffle before a muffled sob reached his ear.

His instinct kicked in. All of the feelings and urges that had lain dormant when Sam left kicked into action. Dean threw the covers off of his legs and made his way to Sam's bed in three long strides. Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd flopped onto the bed next to his gargantuan of a brother and wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders, pulling his little brother to him. Sam seemed to stiffen in his grip for a split second before relaxing and allowing Dean's comforting and firm, yet caring embrace calm him down.

He'd been so stupid. Dean would never stop being his older brother. Even when Sam was twenty-two and Dean was twenty-six, he'd still be Sam's big brother. He would still protect Sam from the ugly things in the world. He would even succumb to a chick flick moment to embrace Sam and make sure his little brother knew that no matter what, as long as the two of them were together, everything would be okay. He would always be there to take a weight off of Sam and take it on himself. And Dean didn't have to say it, but Sam knew his older brother would always love and take care of him.


	16. Always For Dean

**Hey guys, I know it's been a while since I've posted anything on this story and I greatly apologize for that! :/ This story was inspired by the song Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons!**

**I don't own Supernatural or anything affiliated!**

**I'm bleeding out as if the last thing that I'll do**

**Is bring you down**

**I bleed out for you**

**So I bear my skin and I count my sins and I close my eyes and I take it in**

**I'm bleeding out**

**I bleed out for you**

Sam Winchester knew he was dying, and not only that, but he was alone too. He wasn't afraid of dying, that was more of an occupational hazard than anything else. But being alone was on the list of Sam Winchester's top three fears. It was right up there under losing Dean and clowns. He lay in the damp, smelly alleyway behind a blue dumpster, staring up at the sky as white dots danced in his vision, berating himself for leaving the motel room without even a switchblade or pocket knife to defend himself with. Not that it would have done any good. The shotgun, wielded haphazardly by the mugger, had blasted straight through his right shoulder, tearing bone and muscle like flimsy pieces of paper. On the off chance that he survived, and that was a very low chance, Sam knew his right arm would never work properly again.

He writhed slightly as a particularly bad flash of pain traveled through him and wished that the mugger hadn't taken his phone, so he could call his brother. Not for help, Sam knew he was past help. He just wanted to hear Dean's voice one more time before he faded away.

He couldn't remember what the argument had been about. Something trivial. It was always something trivial. Tensions had been high between the two brothers lately for no other reason than the fact that they were two alpha males sharing the same living and eating space 25/7 and both wanted to feel like they were in charge. Sam figured this was some sort of punishment for the venomous words he'd thrown at Dean involving Ben and Lisa before he had promptly been clocked in the face. He was pretty sure his nose was broken. Not that it mattered anyway.

He was always causing Dean some sort of grief, always pulling him down. Sam knew that as soon as Dean realized that his younger brother hadn't returned to the room, he would go out and look for Sam. And the younger man also had no doubts about Dean's tracking abilities. He always found a way to get to Sam. It was one of the things Sam loved about his brother. But when Dean found him this time, pale and cold in some back alley, he would lose it. He would try to make another deal with a demon, or maybe he'd just drink himself to death. Either way, Sam knew that even in death, he was still dragging his brother down, holding him back.

He had always been Dean's burden, ever since he was a baby and that fire had taken their mother. Sam knew that Dean didn't look at it that way, but that's how it was and anyone looking in from the outside would clearly see that. Sam was the weak one. Sam was the one who always needed to be taken care of. He was horribly dependent, and that was sucking the life and energy out of his older brother slowly but surely.

Another flash of pain shot through him, causing an involuntary groan. The puddle of sticky blood beneath him was growing at an alarming rate and the edges of his mind were starting to get fuzzy. His memories started to fade, and suddenly he couldn't remember those nights with Jess. That hurt much more than any bullet wound.

Even as his memories started to blacken, one glaring figure stood out clear in his mind. Dean. Dean was his anchor, the one holding him on earth, the one keeping him sane. And how was Sam repaying him? By getting shot in some dark alley and bleeding to death. _Nice Sam, real good way to pay him back._

Sam wondered vaguely if there was anything he was good at. Killing. Sam was a damn good hunter, maybe one of the best ones out there. But only because his partner was Dean, and the two worked together better than peanut butter and jelly. And while he was good at his job, he'd let a lot of innocent people die in the process. Meg Masters, Pamela, Jo and Ellen Harvelle, Madison, Ava. The list went on and on. Sam probably couldn't really do anything right. It was all Dean, he was just a burden. Maybe it was for the best that he was dying.

Sam had never imagined bleeding to death. It was slow and cruel, almost torturous to lay there, unable to move, and think of all the mistakes he'd made and how many lives those mistakes had cost. But finally, it came. His mind faded into nothing and Sam fell into a state of numb bliss.

"Sammy! Come on little brother, don't do this." Sam knew that voice, and though he couldn't put a face or name to it, he struggled to focus on whatever it was saying. "Sammy, wake up. Please don't do this, don't leave me. You can't leave me, bud." The voice was crying and Sam felt a slight pressure on his shoulder through his numb state. "WAKE UP SAMMY!" The voice snapped in a loud holler. Something clicked in Sam's mind, something subconscious. It had been ingrained in his mind all miserable twenty four years of his life that when his brother gave him an order, he was to follow it. So Sam grasped onto the voice and pulled himself to the surface.

With consciousness came a blinding pain so harsh that Sam's back arched off the ground and a howl of agony ripped from his chest.

"De…" He panted, his left hand weakly reaching up. A wet hand grabbed his and Sam pried his hands open to see his older brother crouched above him. One hand was holding a wadded shirt tightly to his right shoulder and the other, covered in Sam's blood, was grasping Sam's hand tightly.

"It's okay, help is coming." Dean assured, his voice breaking. Tears dripped from his eyes and Sam panicked. Why was Dean crying? Dean **never** cried. "Jesus Sam, look at you. I can't leave you alone for two seconds can I? And you've gone and ruined my shirt." He forced a chuckle past the intrusive lump in his throat, but it sounded more like a choked sob.

"Sorry." Sam muttered abashedly, eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake. "I didn't…sorry." He finally settled on 'sorry', unable to make words.

"You owe me a new one when you get better, dude." When, not if. And that was the confidence that kept Sam awake until the paramedics arrived. It was the confidence that kept him breathing, even when everything was yelling at him to just give up. Because he wasn't about to drag Dean down again. No, this time, he'd pull through for Dean. He would always pull through for Dean.


End file.
